


A Delicate Matter of Pride

by Neleothesze



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Happy Ending, Pseudo-SI, Reincarnation, Self-Insert, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-28
Updated: 2014-12-09
Packaged: 2018-02-27 08:24:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2685920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neleothesze/pseuds/Neleothesze
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>excerpts from Inquisitor Lavellan's Journal: “My mother had never recovered from my birth, passing into the Beyond not months after. The blood sacrifice stood in sharp relief. [...] A born murderer and a body-thief too, as my clan had named me Ellana. Ellana Lavellan.”</p><p>Lavellan feels that having some slight knowledge of the things to come may well be worse than having none at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: (*) Two sentences marked with this symbol were paraphrased from the game. Don't worry, they only appear in one scene. :)
> 
> Disclaimer: All official Dragon Age characters belong to Bioware and its associates. I make no profit from this story.

**A Delicate Matter of Pride**

**excerpts from Inquisitor Lavellan's Journal**

**Part One**

_In the beginning there were the Sun and Earth and from their blessed union came Elgar'nan, the All-Father, who is to be revered in all things._  - or so our legends say. Yet other legends, from the time-before, when I was a child of Man instead of a daughter of the Elvhen, speak of a grand explosion from which the universe burst forth, like a wraith, begging for shape and purpose.

The speakers' own world was a dying paradise on which Man had held sovereignty for thousands of years.

In truth, there were no others capable of reason. Man was alone in this world barren of magic. But even that dying world was hungry for a touch of the arcane and, through craft or sorcery, through the fabled Eluvians or a breech in the planes, I believe that the peoples of Thedas had found passage there too.

Stories - too coincidental to have been made up - had found their way into the hearts and minds of the men of Earth.

After decades of simple living in the world of man, I died a peaceful death. Paradise did not greet me, neither did oblivion. Instead, it was the comfort of my mother's arms, who hummed soothingly in the near-darkness of our aravel.

* * *

I grew up an odd child, prone to asking many questions and then retreating to a quiet corner of the camp to think -  _brood_  - in silence. My cousins, Vhenlin, Adhara and Mallis by name, did not shun me but neither did they make any grand efforts of including me in their play.

Though they were my elders by three, five and eight years respectively, I often felt my true age - the age of my  _spirit_ as it were, which had clung to this infant body and sought to live again.

My mother had never recovered from my birth, passing into the Beyond not months after. The blood sacrifice stood in sharp relief. I frequently wondered if I was an abomination and the guilt twisted like a rusted dagger. A born murderer...

… and a body-thief too, for my clan had named me Ellana, after my grandmother. Ellana Lavellan.

* * *

I believe I was six when I first consciously realised I was in the Fade while dreaming. However, reading of the Fade had not prepared me for the reality. My heart was beating madly while I stood on a half-formed, barren cliffside, petrified.

This non-world shaped of belief, want and desire was utterly wrong. There was no horizon only a dark, gaping void which hurt the eyes. The land itself was shifting under my naked toes, cold sand to sharp, burning rock and back to sand. I was terrified.

A whimper made its way past my tight throat and suddenly I wanted nothing more than to leave it at once, to be protected from it all.

To my mounting horror, the Fade did not eject me. Instead, walls sprung up around me, wrapping tightly, painfully, like a too-small cocoon. I don't know if it was my own fears which gave them life or a 'helpful' spirit, but I screamed and screamed until I woke up.

* * *

They told me that the Keeper had been called, for I would not wake up even though I had screamed my throat raw.

She was - and is - one of the kindest, most patient people I have ever known, Keeper Istimaethoriel. Her warm, loving magic worked to clear my body of all lingering ills while she brewed tonics to fix my injured throat and potions to ease my sleep.

Still, that dream had earned me a fear of the Fade which would take years to disappear. Up until my eleventh summer, there had been very few instances where I was aware I was dreaming and every time I had made a conscious effort to wake up. Even if I could have held a smidgen of the power stories tell the half-elvhen Feynriel wielded, time after time I rejected that avenue.

Not only did the Fade feel unnatural to my rational mind, but I couldn't risk confirming that I did have a place there, that I was once a spirit… and that I had ousted the true soul of Ellana Lavellan. I was a coward, perhaps, but I couldn't bear it.

* * *

A few months after I had turned eleven, while I was in the forest officially foraging for berries and secretly lazing about, my wool-gathering caused me to stumble and take a nasty tumble down a hill.

Down I went, hitting roots and rocks and young saplings, none of which stopped my fall til I found myself rolling to a stop in front of a mother bear and her tiny cubs. The mother, taking the sudden, loud appearance for an attack, jumped me with a frightful roar.

And magic... saved me. I remember feeling myself passing through the world as if through water - a murky, roiling water where the surroundings did not matter and I had no say in my course at all. I had been pushed by this grand current and dropped by the waves in a sanctuary. The spell had taken me to a nearby boulder, tall - and perhaps most importantly - steep enough to give the bear pause.

She growled and sat on her hind legs, looking for purchase to climb after me, while I clutched my heart and balked at these new complications - angry mother bear and magic both.

* * *

With the discovery of my new magic the rift between  _us_  children grew wider. Vhenlin and Mallis no longer invited me to impromptu archery contests, nor did Adhara speak quite as freely of her hopes and dreams.

Slowly, I withdrew into my studies and, to fill up any idle moments, I took up carving. Illun, our master craftsman, already had a student but he did take the time to look at my rough whittlings and, in the evenings, would let me sit by his side as he pointed out flaws and suggested ways I could improve my clumsy slashes.

The seasons passed in this manner and, in due time, I had carved tiny charms for each of our gods, to be worn around the neck or strapped to a bracer's leather laces. For myself, I wore a tiny token of June at my right hand and an even smaller carving of the Dread Wolf on my left.

The Keeper thought it a child's whim, to help ward off evil spirits while I slept. Though ashamed at the deception, I let that assumption spread around the clan, so that few would question me later.

In truth, my friend, I had kept it as a reminder that even truthful people might lie from ignorance and that the memories of the Dalish were not as accurate as we had always hoped.

That year I had earned my vallaslin and instead of feeling proud, I remember feeling cold, empty… branded, nor marked. I cut my hair short and kept a fringe, the better to hide the blood writing.

In my studies under the Keeper I listened and and practiced and, when all was said and done, always made sure to remember the stories from the world of Earth.

* * *

Five years of magical training do not a master make.

In my own fearful, halting, bumbling way I had made peace with the Fade. I had learnt to call upon it to close small wounds and shield my allies and I had learnt to work with the current, that which was referred in our stories as simply the fade jump or step. But I was still very much a novice.

In fact, when the Keeper requested that I spy on the newly formed Conclave, the shemlen's new answer to the mage-templar war, I could feel my simple, safe world crumbling around me.

I refused but I couldn't really provide Keeper Istimaethoriel with my reasons. What could I say? That if there was an Ellana Lavellan there was bound to be a lord or lady Trevelyan, a Cadash Carta member or a Qunari?

What excuses I mustered seemed weak in her eyes and those of my clansmen. What followed were difficult months where I felt the weight of many a disapproving stare around our camp and the slow cooling of some already tenuous relationships.

In the end, I was still honor-bound to obey her wishes and, from the clan's perspective, matters were dire enough to warrant investigating.

I left.

* * *

The Chantry conclave was very difficult to infiltrate, especially for one who had become rusty at handling the workings of… polite society. I stole a servant's clothes at first, and took to serving tables.

It was… disturbing. The shemlen reminded me little of the men of Earth. They were disgustingly rude, both the men and women, and it was a trial to keep up even a veneer of humility.

At the time, it was the sixth day of waiting tables when I thought I had found my salvation. A contingent of mages had arrived from the circle of Ostwick and, as I delivered some drinks, a haughty-looking woman stopped me.

"Maxwell dear" I remember her saying "I've finally caught a serving girl. I swear they're hiding on purpose! Tell her your choice of drink."

A very handsome young man turned to back to look. Tall, fair-faced and with a long, raven braid, he would have been incredibly attractive - but for the sneer.

"Well, it's about time. Three bottles of wine, girl. And don't try to give us any of that cheap swill either. Trust me, we'll know."

"Oi, Trevelyan. It's not from your pocket, make 'er get five, ey?" another called out.

I might have mumbled a "Yes, sers." before hurrying away. They didn't get their drinks but I figured the future-Inquisitor could handle being thirsty for an evening.

* * *

My main priority became leaving the Conclave.

If the future-Inquisitor was already here then I would have to get as far away as possible -  _as soon as possible_.

Taking my battered old satchel from where I had stashed it, I quickly dressed in my old clothes, discarding the tattered servant's dress and started towards the servants' exit.

As luck would have it - and damn me for not remembering that one man's good luck is another's bad one - with the arrival of both the mages and the templars, guards had been doubled.

I had to take quite a few detours to avoid notice, ducking in alcoves and sidling into deserted rooms, this way and that, until I was thoroughly lost.

There was no grand entrance. No valorous threats and no posturing at all.

I entered a chamber with my back to the room, keeping an eye on the corridor past which the guards would come any second now.

Instead, I heard a scream behind me.

"You there, help me!" a desperate voice cried out.

I jumped around, terrified, only to see an old woman struggling in the grasp of a foul-looking spell.

" _No, no, no..."_  my mind was chanting. I could see a monstrous  _man-thing_  twisting around to pin me with a bored, only barely hateful look.

His lips moved but I couldn't hear him for the pounding in my ears. I tried to will myself to move but my limbs felt heavy and sluggish.

Then this crackling sphere was heading towards my head and, instinctively, I raised my arms to protect my face.

It landed in my grasp and, even as I gripped it tightly, my thoughts were still odd and slow.

" _But I was just leav..._ "

A flash of red.

Darkness.

* * *

I woke up in the Fade and felt… heavy. That tiny bit too full, too real for the world around me. As when there is too much oxygen, I felt clumsy and dizzy, moving on instinct alone.

If I was attacked and saved, as in the old tales, I don't know. Even now I can't recall any of it.

The next time I awoke, I found myself bound in heavy irons, hurting everywhere. I tried to go back to sleep or, at the very least, to meditate as the Keeper had taught me.

I failed. Sharp pains would often wreck my left arm, starting at the palm and moving all the way to my shoulder, arching towards my heart, making it hard to breathe without crying out.

Instead, I cried whatever tears I couldn't hold in and clenched my teeth tightly.

Someone would have to come eventually, I thought.

* * *

Eventually happened to be hours later, long past the point when my willpower had more than frayed at the edges.

It was now in tattered pieces, and I was screaming -  _howling_  really - as I clutched my injured arm.

First came the guards, rushing in and leaving just as quickly with muttered "Maker save us." and "Fucking knife-ears."

The Seeker came what felt, at the time, like ages later.

I don't wish to remember her manhandling, her cutting words and rougher arms. She was a desperate woman, facing the sole survivor of a massacre and a rising demonic threat.

Somewhere between urging myself to keep it together and trying to distract myself from the painful throbbing in my arm, I must have pledged my aid because soon we were marching up the mountain.

I mumbled out loud because, at one point, she turned to address me.

"What do you mean, _'It was Trevelyan's job'_? What do you know of that family?" she said, all but ordering me to explain.

"I remember… running from him… the mage. His stupid sneer." I remember saying, pausing every other word to wet my dry, cracking lips.

The thoughts were there - I could  _feel_ it - all the hard facts, reasons and decisions but whatever linked them had been torn to shreds. I felt as if I was chasing some fading memory that was growing more and more elusive as I spoke.

The old tales spoke of a demon, that much I recalled. What had that fiend done to me, I wondered. How far had his grasping fingers reached to steal bits of my mind and soul?

"Trevelyan. The… mage. He was supposed to… to… to do what? It was right there… and now I can't recall. ...He'd wanted three bottles of wine. Yes! And his friend wanted… five."

"I'm no shem's damned servant." I added with an indignant air that wasn't at all feigned. I remembered that much - how angry the shemlen's behaviour had made me.

"Maybe… he was supposed to get his own wine?" It  _sounded_ true enough but, in my own mind, rang false.

"No, no… that wasn't it. But... I  _know_ it was his job…"

I remember catching her arm to have her look me in the eye.

"I had  _decided_ it was his job… This... wasn't supposed to happen… Don't you see, I had even changed my clothes… This wasn't supposed to happen.  _None_ of this was supposed to happen! Get his own drink! I was leaving! I know it!" I hissed, willing her to believe.

"Madwoman." I heard her saying under her breath as she shook her arm free and hurried ahead.

I suppose, looking back, that I didn't make a very good first impression.

* * *

I was still trying to grasp those evanescent thoughts when we found ourselves under attack. Us and a handful of brave soldiers who were getting fewer by the minute.

I shielded them as best I could until one of the angry spirits, a nearly-shapeless wraith, came at me.

With a strangled yelp, I wasted no time in fade stepping onto a boulder, then jumping and hiding behind it until the demon, with no prey in sight, ran to torment someone else.

Only then did I peek from behind my rocky cover, whispering soothing words and sending tendrils of magic to bandage a soldier's bleeding leg, another's slashed arm or face as best it could.

The monsters must have taken, by my estimate, nearly an hour to put down. At the end of the fight, we were all tired and bleeding, the soldiers too weary to be muttering about apostates or elves and myself too drained to worry about it.

It may have been my impression, but Cassandra too was slightly less stiff around me and I put it down to having healed her men instead of using my magic to light up the battlefield.

* * *

We took little time to rest.

We  _had_  little time. When the adrenaline had faded, the pain hit me all the harder. My hand was boiling, my arm burned and the flaming nerves pushed pins and needles into my heart.

When I stumbled onto my knees, Cassandra put a strong arm around her and helped me walk.

She told me later that, at some point, I started muttering in elvish and strange tongues she couldn't understand - doubtlessly the tongues of the men of Earth.

Still, talking helped keep me grounded, even if, at the time, I hadn't realised the reason why the good Seeker wouldn't answer me back.

In due course we came across a rip in the world, a tear made infinitely beautiful by the way it eased my pain the nearer we got to it.

First I could walk under my own power… then I could run… I found myself sprinting towards this new battlefield - to get as close as possible to the thing offering me such blessed relief.

Only to find it surrounded by the same demons as before, ugly, misshapen things, clearly wrong for this world.

I looked around and, noticing allies, I worked to shield them, one by one, fast… faster… the magic seeming so close at hand, almost rushing to obey, wanting… begging to please.

One of the fighters turned to look at me and must have said something to the others, but by then I was focused on renewing the protective magic and mending previous wounds,  _stepping_ across the battlefield whenever I could feel one of the demons come close.

These warriors seemed much more competent and, with the veil tear nearby, I hardly felt the exhaustion… If anything, I felt energized.

When it was over, I was giddy with relief, high on the magic that had coursed through me. I was laughing as someone grabbed my arm and thrust it at the tear.

My beautiful tear… Did I really want it closed, I wondered and, as if in response, the rip pulsed with warm promise.

The grip on my arm became painful.

"Close it." someone said firmly. "Now." It was an order that helped firm my resolve. I had to remember that, at present, distance from any of these rifts could kill me. It was… better, easier… to do as they asked.

I sighed and let the foreign magic latched onto my hand grasp reality. It bound it tighter and tighter until - with so little access to the Fade to help keep it open - the tear crumpled onto itself.

I looked at my hand with disappointment. The pain was all but gone… but so was the blessed balm, the arcane fracture that had so enchanted me.

Wasn't this supposed to feel like a grand achievement, I wondered to myself, both angry at the loss and confused at this unreasonable feeling.

"It is done. You have closed the rift."

I looked up to the speaker and blanched.

* * *

How would you prepare for meeting a god? Or, if not a god, an immortal? Would you be cocky, my friend, confident in your power and worth? Would you be reverent, awed at the chance given to you?

I was neither, I'm afraid.

Varric tells me that I gave a short, pained moan and swayed, nearly crumpling to the ground if not for Cassandra's quick thinking. She caught me and led me to a nearby rock to sit on.

"You may rest here, Lavellan." she said, strongly but not unkindly. "T'was a wonder you could even fight. I had thought the mark would kill you before we got here. You must have truly wanted to close that rift to support us so thoroughly in that battle."

I hummed noncommittally and though I'm sure at least one person did not share her certitude, he stayed silent on the matter.

Instead, master Tethras came to my rescue.

"So Seeker, it seems you were right to keep her after all. We might yet get to the breach."

Though Cassandra's refusal was both swift and blunt, the dwarf was insistent. He argued and cajoled and I could see Cassandra's resolve weakening.

We were both aware that if the mark pained me again, leaving her to carry me… we would be defenseless. Varric too saw it, for he sauntered up to me.

We must have introduced ourselves and I believe I managed a smile, though how pained or trembling it looked, I am unsure.

Cassandra went on to present Solas as an expert on the Fade, a title which the mage accepted with barely a nod - as if it were his due - and a small smile that, if one looked right, seemed almost mocking.

Swallowing my unease, I stared at him through my fringe. He seemed so strangely alluring. Not traditionally handsome, but possessing some kind of inner fire that - had I not known (or at the very least suspected) his real nature - I might have mistaken for charisma.

I must have stared at him far longer than is polite because he tilted his head in a slightly knowing manner.

"A pleasure to meet you… Solas.." I managed to get out, my voice trailing weakly at the end.

* * *

I was left out of the preparations and needless arguing that Varric and Cassandra engaged in as they tried to decide which way was safest across the valley.

While they quibbled over details and fought over strategies, Solas had taken to reading a tome and I, finding a small piece of wood of suitable shape and texture, had taken out my whittling knife.

I hummed as I worked, and gradually lost myself in the simple, repetitive motions until I was calm. I thought of my clan, of my duty, of my new role, what it was supposed to entail… and how I could avoid it.

 _"I am glad to see that my assumptions about the mark on your hand were correct.(*)"_  Solas said, breaking me out the reverie. He spoke elvish and while I wasn't sure if he did this to keep our conversation private or to test me in some way, I answered in kind.

 _"What assumptions were those?"_  I asked, preferring to mentally label my knowledge as speculation until otherwise confirmed.

 _"I had deduced that whatever magic had opened the breach in the sky also placed the mark on your hand.(*)"_  he readily explained.

I turned my hand this way and that, but nothing felt different - the magic was dormant for now. At least I no longer felt quite so sorry at having closed the rift.

 _"It felt different, that magic."_ I started, slowly _"Not as if it was... sifted from the Fade... It felt more potent."_ I added, trying to put into words something which still defied my understanding. _"Real, solid… happy to be used, willing, yearning..._ "

 _"Interesting."_  he said and I might have seen his eyes narrowing slightly, but if they did, it was gone in a flash. Perhaps a mere trick of the light.

" _You've had time to form assumptions about the mark. I assume that means you've had time to study it?_ " I asked, letting the topic drop.

" _Indeed I have - you had been unresponsive for days. I had theorised that the sympathetic magic could be used to affect the breach in a similar, if opposite, way in which the breach is affecting the world."_ he said with a slight smile, using small gestures to emphasise his point.

" _Where one appears to draw magic from the Fade in order to strengthen its cohesion and expand, the other might drain the magic in order to disrupt the pattern and seal the rift._ "

" _A fascinating hypothesis._ " I acknowledged " _...and one I am glad to see proven correct._ " I added, smiling widely before catching myself and looking down at my unfinished carving.

He made it easy to get drawn in, easy to forget who I was speaking to. I shouldn't allow myself to forget that, I decided. He may have meant well… but I was still stuck with the blighted mark due, in no small part, to his stupid, short-sighted plan.

I frowned as I resumed my carving. On the other hand, harboring ill feelings towards him would do me no good. If what I recalled was true, in so long as Corypheus possessed the orb, we were allies.

Mere ifs and maybes… but I had little else to go on. I sighed deeply, once, twice, three times and tried to bury my resentment.

 _"I appreciate the help you've offered so far._ " I whispered, putting as much feeling into my words as possible. " _Both to the soldiers and myself. Mages seem to be in short supply these days, especially ones as competent as you appear._ "

As soon as the words were out, I cringed at how that sounded.  _By the Dread_.. and oh, curse it all, now I couldn't even swear in my own mind.

While I was busy wallowing in self-pity, I heard a light chuckle.

 _"Have no fear, I shall take that in the spirit it was intended in._ "

 _"Thank you."_  I mumbled, and that was the last either of us spoke for a while.

* * *

To my shame, I had no more moments of bravery - reckless or otherwise - as we made our way to the forward camp.

My new companions bantered with each-other in hushed voices, unwilling to risk rousing the animals of the forest or grabbing the attention of any stray demon.

I kept quiet, and observed each of them in turn.

If Varric was scared, he hid it well, teasing Cassandra about all manner of things: her seemingly confident attitude, her battle shouts and -  _once_ \- even her hair. It may have been his way of dealing with the mounting fatigue or a clever trick to keep her mind off worse things.

Nevertheless, he was mostly successful and while the Seeker's own replies weren't half as playful, she made no effort to mock him or put him down.

Solas… He was the picture of calm. As I was holding the rear, I felt that I could study him in patience. His simple attire worked well to hide any hidden strength. I wanted to say that I could see something more, in the way he walked or held himself: a hint of masked skill, an inconsistency in this assumed persona.

I did not.

I briefly wondered how much power he might have truly lost - or, better said, regained - before shaking my head and dismissing the thought. It was irrelevant. I couldn't single him out, deny him protection in the midst of battle to test any wild theories.

For all intents and purposes, he was as mortal as any of us - as frail and easily broken as any of us. Perhaps more, as he appeared as a simple mage, bearing no arms or armor.

As if sensing my overly contemplative gaze - my  _shameless staring_ , more like - he gradually slowed his steps, until he had matched my pace. He said nothing and, surprisingly, his presence was not uncomfortable.

Behind our companions, we hiked in silence as a light snowfall slowly covered our backs in a chilly white mantle.

* * *

The peace lasted until the forward camp was in sight. Another rift had spawned near the entrance and I was both relieved and saddened to realize that the magic's beautiful call was so much weaker.

In turn, the fact that I was at all sad frustrated me and I resolved to work the anger out of my system. Finding a discarded shortsword, I put my early weapons training to use.

I would find a demon already engaged in fighting one or more soldiers, shield the fighters and slash at its misshapen body from behind. If - or when - it turned to address the new threat, I would  _step_ to another unsuspecting demon.

It was, by no means, an easy fight.

The shades' hides were tough like hardened leather and while a skilled rogue might have found some weak spots, most of the warriors' strikes slid off it, no matter how slow the beasts were to defend themselves.

The wraiths' physical constructs were, by contrast, very easy to disrupt. If one could pin them down.

We were down to seven men standing - counting our own party, another dozen dead or gravely wounded, when I decided to risk experimenting with the mark. I neared the rift and tried to pull on the strands connecting the Fade spirits to their world.

They were horrendously hard to grasp, slippery… vanishing in my hand like smoke and reforming around it.

Still, my will had done its job of enforcing the anchor's own power and I could feel them submitting to the anchor's - my - desire. Curling my fingers as if gently stroking a skittish bird's plumage, I wound the threads tighter and tighter, until I could hear the demons' shrill cries at being thwarted.

They had to pull closer to the tear or risk the stability of their new form. Some did, and ever so slowly clustered near the rift. Others tried to resist and gradually vanished, their magic returning to the Fade as they died.

When all had vanished, I took a moment to peer inside the rift. The Fade was as impossible as I remembered it - and I couldn't even blame the window for distorting the image.

I briefly considered stepping in… would having a body mean that the Fade would affect me  _more_ or  _less_? My fear had dulled, my apprehensiveness had not… but it was countered by a mounting sense of curiosity and the dull burn of wanting restitution for past wrongs.

A warm hand on my shoulder stopped any further musings.

"The rift should be closed now."

"I know." I replied, perhaps sullenly.

"And yet you hesitate?"

I did. And if he had noticed anyway, I saw little harm in explaining my reluctance.

"As a young child, I sometimes realized I was dreaming. The Fade was… terrifying. I had discovered an odd, inhospitable, dangerous world. I was scared and it… hurt me." I said, still staring into the tiny window to the Beyond.

"Yet earlier today it drew me in, against all reason and previous fears, like a sweet, long-forgotten song etched in my very bones - or perhaps in this mark I carry... dragging me closer on pain of death. What cursed enchantment could have accomplished such a thing?" I hissed before catching myself and realizing that Solas was pinning me with an odd look.

"We may debate this later, if you wish." he finally offered. "For now, it is imperative that the rift be closed before more demons may be drawn by its presence."

He was, of course, correct to break me out of my fanciful thoughts. This was neither the place nor the time for them. I raised my arm with only a slightly mulish expression.

"I will remember to ask." I said, unraveling the pattern and collapsing the rift.

* * *

Chancellor Roderick was an obnoxiously self-entitled, short-sighted shem. On meeting us, even though we had fought and bled with the Chantry's own men, he immediately ordered my imprisonment and execution.

He made no effort to aid us, neither with supplies or in outlining the incursion into the demon-controlled mountains, offering only scornful, belittling remarks which slowed our planning and heightened the already palpable tension.

I hadn't expected such a negative, wholly dislikeable person. The nugget of truth in every story, I suppose.

At some point in the deliberations I excused myself and went to rest on a pallet. They could do as they chose. My last effort to spare myself some pain had landed me with a cursed mark.

* * *

Leliana's suggestion that we take a secret path through the mountains worked well for us. We encountered no resistance on the hidden trail and it was only when the stars lit and it became clear we wouldn't be reaching the summit, that Cassandra finally ordered we make camp.

Living in the wilds had granted me  _some_ resistance to the cold, but the frigid winter air made me huddle as close to the fire as the others. The aches of the past few days were catching up and my muscles screamed in protest.

Our rations cooled as fast as they had warmed and, together with thoughts about the task ahead, I had very little appetite. Given time to think, all of my worries were struggling to be heard, melding into a ball of dread which settled like lead in my stomach.

I was making pretty little shapes in my plate when Varric spoke up.

"Cheer up, Doe-Eyes. There's only a demon horde in front of us, one behind us and one at the sides. We still have options." he joked, though it did little to lighten my mood.

"I am no warrior, archer or battlemage. I'm a healer, Varric." I answered, trying to keep the bite out of my voice.

"A very welcome addition to any party, healers."

"Let me amend that, I am a healer  _in training_. I can close cuts and mend sprains... superficial comforts."

"And a little light show." he added, wiggling his fingers.

"Ah, yes, the power of this cursed mark… which nearly killed me... and may yet do so." I added, somewhat resentfully.

I gave him no time for rebuttal.

"Make no mistake, I am committed to this course. ...But I've been thrust in a no-win situation and see no reason to be happy about it." I bit out, frowning out at the forest in an effort to avoid looking at Solas.

This worked well enough till the elf decided to address me.

"If the mark is as powerful as it has shown itself to be, merely channeling its power should not drain you of your own."

"Not wholly, at any rate." he slowly, almost reluctantly amended. "Our world wants to run in stable shapes and patterns, to be strong and immutable, while the Fade wishes the exact opposite. Separating two forces which already reject one another's existence would be far simpler than binding them together."

"At any rate, we will not know until we try." Cassandra interjected. "Worrying about it does you little good."

"Closing the breach may well be an easy task." added the elf, whose display of hypocrisy had me pinning him with a hostile look.

"Ifs and maybes." I hissed, gesturing with my marked hand. "Oh, believe me, I am already trusting my well-being to ifs and maybes." I said, thinking of my own reliance on his  _probable_ good intentions and our  _possibly_ mutual goals.

" _I am already running on_ hope _._ " I added in elvish, trying to make him see my disappointment. Perhaps he did, or perhaps he saw only unreasonable despair, because his features slowly settled into a frown.

"Goodnight." I offered the party and left the fire's light and warmth.

* * *

We found a group of scouts holding position in an old ruin early the next day.

I did little in the way of healing, daringly - or  _carelessly_ \- fade stepping around the open rift that left the demons' flanks open as much as it did my own.

The night's conversation still bothered me.

I chided myself for expecting a God to act as a man, to look at the little people instead of the great picture. I could expect no grand confession of guilt… What I could - with patience and kind words perhaps - obtain was knowledge of the Fade and of the anchor.

Helping conquer my fear of the Fade, being able to step into this realm in one place and come out another… such things would hold a great value of their own, even if the power granted by the mark would only be temporary.

But how does one even begin to coax a God into sharing his secrets, I considered dejectedly, idly looking for the elf I was thinking off.

My speculations were cut short when I saw a great shade ready leap onto Solas' unguarded back. The elf was helping shield a gravely wounded soldier and had yet to renew his own protections.

The hit would kill him, I remember thinking.

I screamed, thoughtlessly fade stepping across the gap, trying to parry the thrusting claws and only partially succeeding. One lodged itself into my stomach and, as he pulled, I felt myself dragged forward towards the thing's twisted body.

I could swear it was grinning.

* * *

When I came to, I found myself on a little straw pallet inside the ruins. I spent a few moments simply trying to get my mind in working order. Everything seemed faded and dull. I felt no pain but emotions were hard to grasp for… close, but not quite in range. A very strong potion of healing then.

Carefully, so as not to open any wounds, I tried to sit up. A ratty blanket had been draped over me and I slowly lowered it to check my injuries. It didn't seem  _that_  bad.

Faint steps on the stone made me look up. Solas appeared well, mostly unharmed but… angry… annoyed… I couldn't really tell with the potion muddling my thoughts.

"I have bound the wound as best I could." he said in a clipped voice. "You must now heal it."

"It doesn't look too serious..." I said while unwrapping the bandage.

If anything, his tone became even frostier. "You do not feel anything due to the potions we have fed you. At this point, you have more elfroot in your veins than blood."

I nodded slowly, without really paying attention. The wound really did look hideous: cutting halfway across the ribs, the ragged edges stitched as best they could be and with a deep, walnut-sized puncture near the sternum which was still bleeding slightly. Yes, I supposed it did look bad.

"And yet… I don't feel it at all." I dazedly confessed while prodding the area with a finger.

"Heal it." Solas ordered, taking position at the foot of the makeshift bed.

I focused on calling my magic and it answered slowly, reluctantly… As I worked, I mused aloud.

"It doesn't like the fact that I cannot feel it… that I cannot want it..."

"Who?"

"My magic." I said simply, as if that explained everything. At that moment, to myself, it did.

"Why does your magic feel unwanted?"

"Not unwanted." I corrected before listlessly expanding my answer. "This potion… or potions make it hard for me to want anything… to feel much of anything. All of my studies focused on the harnessing the desire to heal, to protect or flee… Asking magic to do something I do not really want is… difficult."

He chose not to answer me, but after a while of watching me work in silence he did inquire.

"Why did you take the hit?"

I blinked up at him. "I need you." He seemed slightly startled and I reviewed my words. "Your knowledge. I had considered my own chances of survival and they seemed higher with you at my side, than without."

"So you leapt in front of a deathblow?" he quipped, raising a brow.

I realized I was supposed to feel some embarrassment at that, and appreciated missing it.

"I was supposed to parry it. My defense was flawed and the mistake my own. Had I been slightly more skilled, I would have deflected both hits and we would not have suffered this delay."

"No one is angry with you."

" _You_  seem angry." I candidly stated.

He took his time in replying.

"I suppose I find it surprising" he finally said "that a person so afraid of death - and so conscious of their own mortality - as you seem to be, would so readily leap to another's defense."

"Foolish?" I asked as I finished bandaging the mostly healed injury. I slowly stood, to face him as we spoke.

His expression was inscrutable. While waiting for his answer, I carefully inspected his features… unmarred, still strong, still alluring. He too was staring, but whether that boded well or ill, I couldn't tell.

He was about to speak when we heard Varric calling out.

"Doe-Eyes, you're up! How are you feeling?"

* * *

Up close, the central rift was enormous and the Breach itself too imposing for words. I listened to the others plan as I gazed into the hastily closed gap to the Beyond.

"Don't take any unnecessary risks" Cassandra advised me. "We need you to close this rift."

I nodded my understanding then smiled towards the rift. Although it was ajar, this was the first time I would be actively opening a gate. I licked my lips, trying to quell the dangerous -  _lethal_ \- desire to step through.

"Solas, do you have any advice on the cleanest way to open this? I would like to make closing it back all the easier."

The elf stepped close to my side.

"Do you see any patterns into its making?" he asked and I silently cursed his vagueness. Still, I made the effort to check. The magic was chaotic, the rift feeling more like a wound than any stable construct. It made sense that it had tried to close itself, albeit improperly.

With no further delays, I set about opening the wound. It shuddered and protested and the gathering magic seemed to be pulling at the Beyond.

I remembered what the stories said about spirits being twisted into demons by the painful, forced summoning into the real world.

"I'm sorry" I whispered. A roar answered, as a behemoth manifested itself.

* * *

When the gaping rift's magic had dragged forth no more demons, I made my way to the hole itself.

I willed the anchor to send the magic inwards, as before, to break the link between planes.

The rift resisted and I frowned. It seemed that ancient magic alone would  _not_  be enough. I had re-opened this gate against its will and it retreated from my touch.

I began pouring my own will, drawing upon my own strength to power the enchantment. It flinched but started bowing. I pushed and shoved and bullied it into retreating, using the anchor to tear and shred the bindings.

The plan was working, but the construct was massive.

I remember the exact moment when I realized that I couldn't pour as much power as in the beginning: the anchor was doing all it could, my will would get no stronger than this.

The mark's foreign magic was burning up my arm, the flesh tearing under the strength of the channeled spell. It should have been Trevelyan here, a skilled circle mage not an apprentice of little power. I had given it my all and still, it wasn't enough.

Frustrated, I let the tears fall unchecked. How pitiful… to end my second life with such a failure.

Why wasn't  _I_  strong enough?  _I_ …  _I_.. the thought twisted in my mind like a venomous snake.

I had nothing else to give... but myself.

With my right hand I slowly unsheathed my small whittling knife. Faintly, in the background, I could hear their startled cries and frantic questions… "What are you doing?" "What are you doing?"

In one shape or another… all mages are told of the power of sacrifice...

 _"You will bow.'"_ I hissed as I carved open my wound. " _Dread Wolf take you!_ "

Had I been been thinking clearly, I might have laughed at the irony… but magic had accepted the sacrifice and while the wave of power swept across the dying rift, I felt myself slipping…

* * *

When I woke up in the Beyond, I thought myself a spirit. There was no pain this time - and I didn't know enough, at the time, to link it to my lack of fear. The Fade seemed like any other foreign land: strange and, so long as you didn't know the inner workings, a bit dull.

How pointless all my worrying, I thought.

I wandered aimlessly, idly considering what to make of my new existence. It seemed simple, relaxing but purposeless.

After a while, I sat on a rock and started humming. Songs of Earth and of Thedas, of man and elf alike.

In time, I felt a spirit watching. It hovered at the edge of my senses and I hummed softer, to spite it. It did have the effect of drawing it closer and I took the chance to introduce myself.

"Greetings, spirit. I am… was Ellana. Formerly of Earth... and formerly of Thedas. What does one  _do_  in this place?"

"Greetings, dreamer." it answered in a small, wispy voice. "What were you singing?"

"Dreamer?" I scoffed "I'm afraid you're mistaken, my friend, I'm part of the recently deceased. Half-burned, half-bled to death, I'm sure."

It quivered in place, looking unsure. I could sense its confusion and, after a while, it spoke up - and by that, I mean that I hardly had to strain to hear it.

"No, you're not all here… my… friend."

"But..."

"What were you singing?" it insisted.

"Love songs, for the most part. I will sing them with words if you'll give me a tour." I bargained. I would have thought it happy with the arrangement but it suddenly seemed to wilt.

"I would like that very much… it's been so long since I've heard anything  _new_. But I'm afraid there won't be time…"

"Why no..."

* * *

I felt a drop landing on my face and I opened my eyes to see a leaky, slightly bowed wooden ceiling.

"I'm alive." I recall whispering. "I'm alive." I started crying and couldn't find it in me to stop even as I heard a servant entering and then rushing out with cries for a healer.

Said healer followed soon after, looking harried, sounding brusque but handling me with a careful, kind touch.

He checked my stomach, my left hand and arm… and when he could apparently find no cause for the tears, finally asked.

"Alright, what's wrong?"

Between sniffs and hiccups, I did my best to point out the source of my distress. "I'm… alive..."

"Ugh!" he snorted disgustedly. "Maker save me from suicidal heroes!"

"No… you… don't get it..." I insisted, but he was already gone.

* * *

It took me hours to come to grips with my continued survival.

I looked at my arm, littered with thin criss-crossing lines... my stomach, sporting a thick, puckered scar… and my hand, the anchor's power still pulsing slowly under the surface.

When I finally mustered enough energy to leave my temporary home, it was already dark outside.

Braziers and camp-fires had been lit throughout the tiny village but I avoided the circles of light, fade stepping behind houses and keeping to the shadows. It would have worked too, if not for Varric sudden arrival.

"Pstt! Doe-Eyes, what's with the skulking?" he stage-whispered "Planning something nefarious so soon? Can I help?"

"Yes, Varric." I retorted, far more quietly. "I have shamed my wild, barbaric ways by acting heroic and must now make penance by killing a dozen innocent kittens."

"Must you?" another asked, and I saw Solas stepping out of a patch of darkness. "The ways of the Dalish have certainly changed in these latter years."

His unexpected appearance took the wind out of my sails.

"Solas..." I whispered. _"Dread Wolf"_ said my thoughts and I could hear the tangled ball of emotions in the words - spoken and unspoken -, even if the others did not.

"I would speak to you of what happened at the Breach. ...May I impose upon your hospitality for the evening?"

"You may." he agreed with a nod.

* * *

The meeting with Leliana and Cassandra could have had only one result.

Backed into a corner by Grand Chancellor Roderick, the two had reaffirmed the forming of the Inquisition and to add substance to the somewhat tenuous legitimacy of their claim, they needed the  _Herald of Andraste_  to stand with them.

I was terrified of accepting, but terrified even more of refusing and facing Corypheus alone.

For all that they wanted to use me as a symbol, I too needed them as my shield. I had the beginnings of a plan that was so mad, it might just work...

I agreed.

* * *

It must have been close to midnight when I knocked on Solas' door. It opened swiftly and he bid me welcome. It was a tiny house, with clean but sparse furnishings… and only one chair.

I quickly settled myself down next to the hearth.

"Please..." he started, gesturing towards the empty chair.

"'Tis not the first time I have sat on the warm earth in front of a fire." I said, waiving the offer as graciously as I could. "Besides, I couldn't deprive my host of his seat, not when I'm here to seek favors and exchange knowledge." I added jokingly.

He huffed a short, light laugh, crossed his arms and even in the flickering light, I could see him peering at me through half-lidded eyes, a smile flitting across his lips.

"Usually, it is the other way around, is it not? Exchanging favors and seeking knowledge."

"Perhaps" I agreed. "But in this instance, the favor would most likely remain unpaid. It's not something I could equal…"

"While in knowledge you could?" he softly interrupted, leaning forward. I didn't have to see his raised brows to sense the disbelief, but I made a point of looking him in the eye as I answered.

"In its usefulness? Yes." I stated as confidently as I could. "Though tonight I came primarily to discuss possible means of entering the Fade?" I said, and while he didn't frown, his face smoothed into a blank mask which boded ill for my chances.

"I would advise you against attempting it. Whenever you've approached a rift, forgive me for saying this, you've alternated between excessive fear, revulsion, anger and delight. Even if there were some means of travelling available to you, such strong emotions could draw powerful demons to your side." he explained, not unkindly.

"...You're right. Or would have been." I agreed, looking down at my lap and toying with the golden embroidery from one of my cuffs.

"After I… disabled the Breach… I found myself in the Fade. I... assumed to have passed... into the Beyond" I said haltingly, trying to swallow back the emotions which the memory evoked.

"I felt little past a... faint curiosity about my new home. ...It wasn't terrifying ...and I discovered nothing exciting all by myself. If anything, I found it rather dull, and after a while, I simply sat while waiting for something to happen."

I snorted. In hindsight, my actions must have seemed ridiculous. Especially if the friendly spirit had been watching me for longer than I had sensed it.

"As I hummed to pass the time, a spirit approached me. It was shy, but welcoming… and very interested in these 'new melodies'. It was the one who convinced me that I was quite alive and merely dreaming. ...I think I would like meeting it again." I smiled in remembrance. "I owe it some songs."

Solas seemed contemplative.

"A spirit of curiosity, perhaps." he mused, idly tapping a finger against his knee. "But if this is your only goal, why go physically in the Fade?"

I shrugged. I wouldn't share all of my reasons but there were things which were true enough.

"I can't control when my dreams start or end… or even if I recall them at all. With so little control, my chances of meeting one spirit out of thousands would be… slim."

"I too have met good friends within the Fade." Solas admitted. "I will consider it."

* * *

I would admit to feeling slightly guilty about my deception, but mostly pleased that it had worked.

While we waited for a reply from Leliana's agents, we made forays into the wilds surrounding Haven to practice our skills and develop some measure of teamwork.

Lately, a careful observer could occasionally catch Varric and Cassandra sharing a drink in Haven's small tavern while bickering good-naturedly.

As for Solas and I, our meetings slowly became a nightly ritual. We would speak for hours - though I mostly urged him to share stories of his travels and then listened raptly to each fascinating tale.

It was a month past our arrival in Haven and we were due to leave for the Hinterlands in a couple of days, provided the weather held.

I was curled up in front of the fire when he ended the story about some ancient dwarven clan's forays into darkspawn territory and the naming of their paragon. I had been playing with my carvings, as I was wont to do at home while listening to the Hahren speak, when the sudden silence made me look up.

There was an odd look on Solas' face as he stared at my fingers - no, not my fingers, my tiny little charms.

"I believe I recognise the figures you've depicted. Two of your gods, are they not?"

I bit my lip as I considered how best to answer him… this strange being who was, in spite of both our lies and omissions, slowly becoming a friend.

"They are: June and Fen'Harel."

"The Master of Crafts and the Dread Wolf… I haven't heard of any Dalish elf choosing the latter as his patron. Is he not the one relegated to the outskirts of your camps? How rebellious of you, Ellana." he said, somewhat snidely.

Usually, speaking of my people was still taboo around him. He took our ignorance as a personal slight and I had made little headway in addressing the issue without offending him.

"Yes, the Dread Wolf..." I spoke slowly, measuring my words. "We remember him as the one who banished the gods… and yet we trust him to ward off evil spirits. I believe there was more to it… to him. Is it something I've gotten wrong?"

"Why ask me? Are they not your gods?" he asked sullenly.

Moving closer, I dared to place a hand on his shoulder. He stared at it, as it trembled slightly, but didn't remove it.

"You've certainly endeavored to dispel my ignorance on many other topics and given me good council."

The silence was heavy, but I risked pushing further. "Solas, in the end, it's a simple question, isn't it? I trust June and Fen'Harel  _both_  to watch my back. Do you believe I shouldn't?"

He turned his face from me, casting it into shadow.

"Perhaps, in your case, the trust would not be unfounded." he whispered, so soft I could barely hear it.

"Thank you, Solas. I shall keep my carvings then."

I made to leave, but found my hand held in a firm grip.

 _"You are a surprising woman_." He said it clearly, in elvish, holding my gaze as he spoke. " _By turns shrewd and naive, cowardly and brave, bold and respectful. I had not expected this. Expected_ you."

My breath stuttered.

"But the hour is late. Goodnight, Ellana."


	2. Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Another monster of a chapter... and only one more to go. :)

**Part Two**

* * *

We journeyed south into the Hinterlands thirty four days after sealing the Breach.

We even made good time, if ‘good’ allows for fighting bandits every other day. However, the closer we got to the Crossroads, the more the situation worsened.

We didn’t have the manpower to storm the Crossroads and so we made do with cunning, deception and the guerrilla warfare my people were particularly fond of.

Cassandra dressed as a Templar and lured patrols into the hills, where the rest of us, supported by the Inquisition forces, would be lying in wait. Solas impersonated rogue circle mages and would likewise lead them into ambushes.

Five weeks of culling the enemy’s numbers saw both groups retreating to more remote shelters, mines and caves hidden deep in the forested hills.

* * *

We had been resting in the dark, alone, for over an hour.

Varric’s shift had already ended and Cassandra’s wasn’t due till early morning. By common accord the middle shift would always be taken in twos, as it was both the longest and had proven, again and again, the preferred time for bandits to strike.

Speaking in hushed whispers, I had been trying - unsuccessfully -  to convince the elf to help me experiment with a way of altering the fade step to allow for minute shifts in my position, enough to dodge a blow without travelling halfway across a battlefield.

"Think of the possible applications, Solas." I begged.

"The trace amounts of magic required to perform such feats would take an incredible degree of awareness and control of one’s magic." he said, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "As well as an awareness of all ambient magic which could be drawn into the spell’s sphere of influence, including residue from previously cast spells."

I had already made him repeat his argument for the third time but I wasn’t yet ready to give up. Still, I allowed a tendril of magic to touch his forehead, looking to soothe the budding headache.

"Yes, but there are wards for that. To drain the residual magic before it could be absorbed by any subsequent spells." I countered hesitantly… uncertain of the specifics of the wards in question, only of their existence.

"And what of the veil tears? How would you counter the manner by which the Fade increases the potency of the ambient magic by several orders of magnitude? How would you factor in your Mark?"

"If you’d agree to help, I’m sure we could find something!" I huffed, frustrated by his continued refusals. "How can dismiss such a useful subject out of hand? This isn’t like you Solas!"

"It only takes one mistake." he curtly informed me.

"Excuse me?"

"There is a reason we, as mages, do not engage the warriors. There is a reason we create barriers against axes and arrows alike and _still_ keep our distance. If - or when - our protections are stripped from us, retreat is still an option. If you were to rush into the melee, as you did when we first met… all it would take is one mistake."

"You failed a parry and it nearly killed you. With such delicate magic, if you were to dodge and miscalculate, you could end up running yourself through the very sword you wished to avoid. I will not help you kill yourself." I could see him watching me closely, intently, as if waiting for something. At length, he turned away.

"The topic is closed."

* * *

With the Crossroads secured, we were free to reach the Revered Mother.

It must be said that Mother Giselle was one of those rare servants of faith who hadn’t grown bitter by the corruption which seemed to infest every corner of the Chantry and could, instead, look at anyone and see some good in them.

I cynically wondered whether that was why her voice was so respected among her peers. " _Even the deadliest viper wants to be well thought of._ " I mused, as I introduced myself. I briefly wondered what she saw in me, but quickly dismissed the thought.

The Inquisition would make use of her influence, with her consent it seemed, and I had no interest in being praised as noble and righteous when I was just someone who had been at the wrong place, at the wrong time.

"We will be leaving as soon as you are ready, Mother. Please pack lightly, Leliana has made sure that you will want for nothing once we reach Haven." 

* * *

With Mother Giselle’s support, we did manage to open a channel of communication with the Chantry but our trip to Val Royeaux was as fruitless as I had feared.

Lord Seeker Lucius - or his doppelganger - made no appearance but, led by a masked Knight-Captain, a group of around forty Templars publicly rejected the Chantry’s authority, stabbing each of their swords once, into the wooden podium, in sign of protest.

While unharmed, the previously cocky speaker was left humiliated among the gossiping crowds of Orlesians who, in groups of twos and threes, slowly turned their backs to the disgraced official.

Still, even in defeat the Chantry was too proud to grab onto the olive branch I extended as diplomatically as I could, and we left the Orlesian capital with little to show for our efforts. 

* * *

On our return to Haven I approached the Inquisition’s spymaster for a discussion long overdue. Sitting in her chambers, as she prepared the tea, I considered how best to present my wishes.

"Leliana, if individuals of questionable origin were to approach me with dangerous... but potentially crucial information… would you send agents to verify these claims?" I started, speaking slowly, almost hesitantly.

She frowned and took a long sip before asking. "What would this information be, Mistress Lavellan?"

I bit my lip, knowing that whatever I said couldn’t be taken back, wouldn’t be easily justified if my memories - or the information in them - proved faulty.

"Rumors of terrible happenings were mentioned, at both Therinfal Redoubt and Caer Oswin, linked to Varric’s accursed red lyrium, which also appeared at the Breach. Happenings which would see any caught infiltrator silenced swiftly."

"Were names mentioned?" she inquired, suddenly straight-backed and serious.

"I would prefer us to check for ourselves..." I hedged "...without stealing or even touching anything which could be linked back to us. That would..." I stopped, the words lodged in my throat as I imagined Corypheus sending his Templar, Venatori and demonic armies to swarm Haven.

"There’s only the matter of entering unseen" I said weakly "... and managing to leave alive."

She got to her feet, signaling that our conversation was at an end.

"I will send agents to investigate."

I nodded and saw myself out, praying that I made the right decision.

So many things were not developing in accordance to my memories: no arrows had sailed at my feet in Val Royeaux, encouraging chases for suspicious notes or stray bits of red cloth; no nervous messengers had approached with invitations to one of Madame de Fer’s famous soirees.

" _Could they all be linked_ " I worried and wondered " _to Trevelyan’s death at the Conclave_?"

Indeed, the scion of a noble house - even as a mage - seemed far more suited to the position of Herald of Andraste, far more plausible.

And while we had been approached by an envoy of the Chargers upon our return to Haven, it had been the coy Dalish who had been sent, instead of Cremesius, who I remembered to have originally been Bull’s second in command.

The more the changes piled up, the more I questioned the soundness of my memories until I spent most of my days clinging to each and every reminder that I could, at least partially, predict the enemy’s movements. 

* * *

The following month and a half saw me stationed on the Storm Coast, meeting the Chargers, lending my aid to the camp healers and my mark to the brave soldiers working to close the many Fade rifts plaguing the woodlands near the coast.

Under the tutelage of a former Senior Enchanter, I learnt how to set bones and call upon magic to repair damaged organs. Unfortunately, there was no shortage of patients to practice on and, as I had little experience in triage, many good men were crippled or lost on account of my having missed an injury or treated it as something insignificant.

On the evening when the Iron Bull pulled me aside to confess his affiliation to the Ben-Hassrath, I was dead tired, covered in our patients’ blood, stinking of sweat and bile. He couldn’t have shocked me even if he’d confessed to having shagged the Empress of Orlais.

I nodded twice then rubbed a hand over my face, willing myself to focus.

"As a show of good faith, I would have you inform your superiors of this: The party responsible for tearing open the Breach is involved in something suspicious at Adamant fortress."

Bull understandably looked skeptical. "We’ve only just met and you are sharing this sort of sensitive information? And involving the Grey Wardens no less?"

I raised a brow. "At present, our agents are steering well clear of this matter, but I know the name of every person aware of the information. If it leaks out, those involved will be silenced, the Inquisition’s contract with the Chargers dissolved and the Ben-Hasrath will have lost a well-positioned spy. On the other hand, if you are willing to perform the role of unofficial liaison between the Qunari and the Inquisition, to share with us whatever information Ben-Hasrath agents find in Adamant, I will personally ensure that the Chargers’ contract is _very_ advantageous."

He rubbed his beard and hummed, considering. Finally, he said "I will think on this until we reach Haven. You will have my answer then."

As soon as he left, I crumpled on the floor, heart beating madly, wiping my sweaty hands on the dirty, bloodied apron.

I had just made my greatest bluff. 

* * *

The rain had been coming down in a soft, steady drizzle for the past few days, so I was not surprised by the fine veil which swept across my body the second I left the tent. Rather, I turned my palms and face upwards, enjoying the feel of the light spring shower on the skin.

It was invigorating, a rare thing after seven hours in the camp’s infirmary.

With Enchanter Alexia - my mentor - sent to the Hinterlands, there were only two Inquisition healers left on the Storm Coast, myself and a young human girl by the name of Hannah. We were both overworked and increasingly high-strung. I was starting to understand Adan’s perpetual bad mood.

I too had begun to resent my companions.

Perhaps I wouldn’t have minded as much, had I been back with the clan. There, everyone’s purpose was clear and since we all chose our roles based on what we were best at and enjoyed the most, it was hard to be envious of anyone else. A craftsman had little reason to be jealous of the hunter who used _his_ bow to catch the game.

Here, I had been shoved into the role of Herald, a role which required no skill - beyond the ownership of the Mark - and entailed no actual responsibilities - aside from keeping safe.

Since the safest spots were considered our camps, I had been speedily assigned as the healer in charge of the camp’s sickroom, only allowed to leave once a veil tear had stopped spewing out demons and the Mark could be safely used to close it.

My companions however, shining examples of their kind that they were, had been snagged up by various patrols and unleashed upon the varied threats of the Coast.

It had been over two weeks since I had taken any assignment outside the camp, while Solas, Varric and Cassandra had roamed the hills to their hearts’ delight.

We would still meet most evenings by the campfire, to share the day’s events with one another, but it wasn’t quite the same.

I missed the easy companionship we had all shared in the Hinterlands, the late nights spent by Solas’ side, listening to his tales of times long gone. I missed his lectures on ancient applications of magic - disguised as they were in half-remembered imprints witnessed in the Fade - or the way his pace would sometimes change when we strayed away from Varric and Cassandra, to slowly match my own swift stride across the rocky slopes.

With a huff, I returned to the tent. There was work to do... always more work to do. 

* * *

Another twelve-hour shift in the infirmary, another gruesome display of burnt skin, broken bones and dark, blood-stained sheets beneath frail-looking men - a picture of all the Inquisition sacrificed in holding the demonic tide at bay.

I needed to stretch my legs, explore the mountains, run away from it all - even for just a short while. Hurriedly, I stepped out of the simple robes I used while healing and into a pair of well-worn leather trousers I had wheedled out of Master Harritt before leaving Haven.

I found Solas on the camp’s outskirts, reading from one of his old tomes by the light of a tiny wisp hovering about his shoulders.

"We’re going running, Solas." I stated, putting as much authority into the order as I dared.

He took his time in closing the book before turning to fix me with an incredulous look.

"A courier mission? At this hour of the evening."

"No," I admitted with a grin " _you and I_ are going running."

He snorted lightly. "I’m in no mood for frivolous games."

"Yes, it’s plain to see. I, however, am going stir crazy and can’t very well ask Cassandra or Varric to race me through the woods." I said, waving my arms to emphasize the sheer absurdity of that alternative.

"Still, a race between the two of us would hardly be fair when you will merely fade step to the destination." he argued, though I saw he was already considering it.

"I won’t be using any magic." I promised, pointing at the scouting gear I had donned.

His eyes roved over the armor as he smiled. "A purely physical exercise..." he said slowly and though I knew he hadn’t meant his words to be suggestive, my stomach fluttered. To distract myself, I turned to look towards the forest edge.

"Yes, though I don’t think it will be much of a race with you being so unenthusiastic…" I teased "More a matter of playing catch-up, chasing after any old trails I might have left."

His eyes seemed to flash at the challenge and, settling the battered tome on a stump, he chucked. "A chase… Oh, I would not worry about my chances."

I took that to mean that the game was on, and dashed into the forest.

I didn’t think myself at a disadvantage. He still had a act to maintain, I’d reckoned and while the forest floor was littered with hidden roots, holes, stones and twisting vines, I had been taught since childhood how to traverse the treetops.

He was a hair’s breadth from touching my arm when I leaped up a tree-trunk. I wasted no time in sidling upwards until I was crouched on one of the lower hanging limbs.

The trees here were beautiful, old and healthy, with thick, strong branches and I laughed as I vaulted across the gaps. 

* * *

Stray locks whipped at my face, cold leaves crunched under the balls of my feet as I sprinted across the straighter boughs.

The forest though, was dotted with many wide clearings and unless I wanted to waste significant time on detours, it often meant jumping down and sprinting across the fields to avoid Solas’ quick swipes.

He was always there when I left the safety of the treetops, making me roll and vault, this way and that to avoid capture until I was almost certain he was toying with me.

By sunset, my muscles were protesting at every leap and my heart was beating madly, both from the effort and the thrill.

I had sprung onto another trunk when suddenly the wood under my foot turned slippery and I landed back on the grass.

 _"Is it... frosted?"_  was all I had time to think before I was pushed against the tree by a pair of strong, warm hands.

He was too near, our chests nearly touching, breaths mingling with every exhale.

If I wanted… if I simply leaned forward… but those were crazy thoughts and I tried to escape his gaze. It was too fixed and there was something there, something fiery and wanting - but I bit my lip to dispel such silly notions. I was merely projecting.

I closed my eyes and rested my head back against the trunk. My belly throbbed dully and my thoughts were scattered, but I was still lucid enough to feel the frozen bark against my back.

I opened my eyes to fix Solas with a half-lidded glare.

"You. Cheated." I bit out.

He laughed. "Indeed, I did not." he cheerfully denied "You imposed a handicap upon yourself. Since you seemed so confident in your victory I, graciously, accepted."

"Now," he finished in a deep, rumbling voice "what do I win?"

* * *

No sooner had I stepped foot in Haven that Leliana approached me and, with smiles and sweet words to each of my companions, deftly led me away.

In her chambers, she locked the door then asked sharply.

"Why are there _two_ Lord Seekers?"

It took us hours to hash out the beginning of a plan and, by the end, my shoulders hurt from how tense I had been, having to check my every word to ensure I didn’t mention anything I shouldn’t know. 

* * *

By contrast, the next meeting was refreshingly casual.

As soon as I left Leliana’s chambers, I was accosted by Bull who, while speaking of everything from the weather to the difficulty in finding a redhead in Haven - aside from our spymistress - mentioned offhandedly,

"So… say some people were summoning demons..."

I narrowly avoided stumbling. "...What a completely irresponsible thing to do… summoning... half a dozen..." I started saying, testing the waters.

"Ahem… one or two hundred..." he corrected mildly, looking for all the world as if we were still sharing boring village gossip.

"Yes, yes, one or two hundred lesser…"

"Greater.."

"...greater demons. Why, as Herald of Andraste, I think I’m in the perfect position to say that if those people were visited by the Maker’s wrath..."

"The Maker’s wrath?" Bull asked with genuine confusion.

I covered a giggle. "Yes, yes, fire from the sky, the whole err… unholy site... exploding from the bottom up..."

"Ah..." he said, feigning a slow, wise nod. "So indeed."

"As I said, I’m sure if they were visited by the Maker’s wrath, it would be a _most_ holy, _most_ righteous thing." I finished, trying to look as serious as possible while imagining dozens of Qunari sappers planting their gaatlok throughout Adamant. ...in the Maker’s name.

" _If_ such a thing were possible... to see that the... Maker’s... will be done" Bull said slowly, as if trying to contain either a great laugh or a heave, "when would it be most appropriate, do you think?"

"Oh, I’m sure the Maker wouldn’t will it for some months still."

"Hmph. We’ll see."

After exchanging a bit more gossip, we separated at the Chantry doors.

* * *

Preparing a simultaneous assault on the templar training grounds and the seeker fortress seemed like a madman’s endeavor. So I steered clear of any decision-making.

Instead, I asked Solas to help me research various ways of breaking demonic barriers, as well as any means of temporarily shielding against demonic possession aside from the fabled Litany of Andralla.

"We haven’t the time to study such esoteric subjects, Ellana, not when there are more pressing gaps in your knowledge left unaddressed."

Usually, I would have deferred to him but this time, I felt - _knew_ \- it could be a matter of life and death.

"No. It’s necessary that we do this… and in good time."

"You still cannot properly condense your magic into a shape stable enough for any elemental attack."

"A secondary concern."

"Or sustain your protections on more than a handful of people."

"I’ll get there eventually."

He sighed, visibly exasperated with my stubbornness.

"The position of Herald combined with your… focused expertise..." he said, delicately referring to the fact that my mastered spells were almost completely devoted to healing and protective magics "make you unsuitable for a spot in the vanguard. Any serious threats will be addressed by others before you can become involved."

"Solas. This is something which we _must_ do. Not could or should." I interrupted gravely "Please, I need your support in this." 

* * *

We did eventually discover - or rather, Solas shared with me - a runic sequence which would, temporarily, block any foreign access to one’s mind, a bastardised ward whose pattern would slowly collapse under repeated use.

Still, it was more than I had hoped for and I knew that Solas wouldn’t have showed me anything if he wasn’t at least reasonably sure of the solution’s chances of success.

"This is a great find, Solas!"

I couldn’t stop myself from laughing in joy and hugging my elven friend.

I drew back from my impulsive embrace just as I felt his arms come up to hold me in return, but by then it was too late to stay. Putting some space between us, I coughed to cover the awkwardness of my retreat.

"This will be perfect. Thank you."

" _Will be_ perfect?" he asked with a frown.

"Would be… I misspoke."

* * *

A raven brought word of the annihilation of Adamant fortress when we were only hours away from Therinfal Redoubt.

I laughed and laughed, wondering if it was simply the exquisite planning of great minds or if some god smiled upon us that day.

I could not say what went on at Caer Oswin save for the fact that it was purged. Cassandra herself had led the vanguard and from it returned a slightly harder, more bitter woman.

At the same time, our assault on Therinfal Redoubt was merciless. Owing to the information obtained from Leliana’s agents, the Inquisition forces had been prepared to cut down any templar that showed the slightest sign of having used or been influenced by the corrupted lyrium.

By the time we had reached the great hall, thirty or so healthy templars had been knocked unconscious, bound and secured within the keep’s prison, while the hallways ran red with the blood of the abominations.

Bull, Solas and myself, together with the Chargers and a handful of the strongest Inquisition soldiers had worked to drive the fake Lord Seeker to the battlements and it seemed that our brutal invasion of the keep had apparently been enough for me to capture its attention, even though, from all our company, I was the most harmless.

When we had finally cornered it, as I had feared, its first impulse was to go after the much touted _Herald of Andraste_. I couldn’t stifle a joyous laugh as the markings flared brightly, denied him and revealed its true form.

I grinned, twisting the knife further. "Weakling, you simply aren’t worthy of me." I sing-songed. "What a pathetic display… surely you can do better than that."

The barb worked well at enraging it and, abandoning all thoughts of running, it leapt after me, leaving itself open to attack. I flitted around the soldiers, fade stepping whenever the demon got within arm’s reach.

"What’s the matter, demon? Don’t tell me you’re actually trying to keep up with you betters..." I taunted, trying to keep my voice from shaking.

The tactics we had agreed on took advantage of Envy’s greatest weakness but put me in a very vulnerable position.

'Using the Herald as bait' should have been the last of our choices but most of us suspected that without a target worthy of envy, the demon would most likely flee, instead of doing battle and having a demon capable of impersonating the Lord Seeker on the loose was something we couldn't afford.

Still, I knew that just one hit from those wicked claws would likely slice through my protections like butter.

It did.

We had been fighting the monster for what felt like ages when my foot caught on a stone and I stumbled. My jump fell short and I could feel my shield crumbling under the strength of Envy’s serrated appendages, the talons digging deep into my shoulder.

Crying out, I tried to twist myself free before it could drag me any closer but tiredness and pain made me clumsy and I turned my head just in time to see a second claw heading for my neck…

...and being parried by a couple of long daggers.

"Cole." I whispered with dismay. Saved… but by a wildcard. Envy screamed in frustration and then my view of it was blocked by a row of shields which had taken position in front of me… and by the spirit’s wide-brimmed hat.

I didn’t know what to expect. Cole was clearly our ally against the Envy demon but the Inquisition forces had descended upon Therinfal Redoubt like a crimson tide. I had no idea how that registered on Cole’s moral compass.

The spirit’s head tilted slightly to the side, as if listening.

"They wouldn’t have stopped if you hadn’t bound them. Duty to the order. To the Lord Seeker. He needs more lyrium. No more given, unless it’s red. Doubt. Fear. Friends falling around him. Panic. Anger." it said in a fast staccato - an answer to my unspoken worries about its presence and intentions. "You’ve hurt them less. Freed the red ones. Stopped their pain. ...You did good."

"I will help you."

* * *

After our overwhelming success against the templars, Solas said he wished to present me with a gift yet offered nothing during the celebrations or afterwards, when I bid all my companions goodnight and retired to my chambers.

I thought he might have forgotten… until I woke up in the Fade, with him standing beside me looking just slightly taller, slightly more regal.

In my previous journeys into the Fade, I had been wholly focused on the world around me.

I hadn't noticed that my body was a strange meld of human and elvhen, with darker skin, odd-colored hair, wider hips and nearly round-shaped ears. Yet when I greeted my unexpected dream companion, I saw myself as tall as him.

Surprised, I chanced a look at myself and then at Solas, to gauge his reaction. He was watching me with narrowed eyes.

"The Fade is, by its very nature, mutable - as mercurial and temperamental as the spirits which inhabit it. But it has been a very long time since I have seen… a memory of someone change shape before my very eyes."

When he had paused, I’d hoped that I might get another glimpse at the real ‘Solas’. Instead, his words were, as usual, carefully adjusted to match the person he portrayed.

I shrugged. In so long as he continued with his deceptions, I would make no move to explain my own.

Nevertheless, the mood had been spoiled. As he led me towards some unknown destination, there was a new tenseness about his frame and a defensiveness about mine.

I still asked questions that he was gracious enough to answer with interesting tidbits of lore, but neither of us was wholly focused on the conversation. When I had previously asked him for ways of controlling my journey in the Fade, I had lacked the foresight to predict this outcome and suddenly I wondered what else I might have missed.

"We have arrived" he finally called out. "If the spirit you’ve seen before wishes to meet you again, it will come here." he promised and I realized that, despite it all, he had been very kind to me, indulgent of my whims and unexplained requests. Touching his arm to make him look at me, I bowed my head in gratitude.

"Thank you, Solas… for this opportunity. It is a rare, beautiful gift."

For a long moment he stayed silent. Then, with a deep sigh, he placed his soft, warm hand over my own and peered at me, lips twisted in a wry smile.

"I hadn’t expected for you to look different in dreams but perhaps I should have grown used to your impossible ways."

His fingers skimmed over the back of my hand, light, tentative.

Was he toying with me, I wondered. My chest felt tight and I waited for any hint that a sign of affection on my part wouldn’t be badly received.

He might have said or done more, but the spirit chose that moment to appear, enquiring in a soft, but clearly excited voice.

"Have you come to sing me songs?"

"Greetings to you too, spirit." I grumbled, peeved at the interruption.

"Oh, yes. Greetings to you too… erm… Ellana, formerly of Earth, formerly of Thedas. That’s right, isn’t it? I’m sure I remembered correctly. You seem different, full, heavy, brimming with energy. Why are you different from last time? You are harder to look at… it almost strains my eyes." as it cheerfully continued its questions, my mind was stuck on what it had unwittingly revealed.

"Formerly of Earth, formerly of Thedas? Separate, enumerated… Earth… as opposed to… Thedas?" Solas said softly, too softly for the visible tension in his back.

I was caught flat-footed, no excuses or clever lies prepared, but perhaps anything would have been preferable to the approach I _did_ take.

"When I thought myself dead..." I began, but he twisted in my grasp  and started pacing.

Suddenly, with a muttered oath, he grabbed both my shoulders and forced me to look at him. He seemed impossibly angry but his voice carried a clear hint of distress.

"I am no fool, Ellana... if that is even your name. You plot with Sten to stymie enemies no one knew were lurking in the shadows. Allied spirits appear around you - literally. You make contingency plans for situations so unlikely as to be impossible - if not for the fact that they DO happen." His words were damning and I was too shaken to complain about the painful, punishing grip on my shoulders.

"I have been patient… and I have waited for you to reciprocate my candor."

‘Candor!’ I whispered, frankly baffled by the hypocrisy of his last words.

He didn’t appreciate my doubting him, his tirade quickly turning venomous.

"This friendship you have encouraged between us, is there even a purpose to it? A pleasant way to pass the time because we are both what, _elves_? _Mages_? Are you even a mage, an elf? Is this…" he said, casting his eyes over my body "...what you truly look like? Some ‘ _thing_ ’ hiding behind the illusion of a Dalish mage? Did you think appearing Dalish would actually make you any better?"

I’d had enough.

"You have _no_ right to speak to me of deception, Solas!" I shouted, angry at the accusations and hurt by his vicious words.

"No right?! I thought you my... friend!" he all but roared. "When were you going to tell me? Were you ever going to tell me!"

"When were you going to confess giving your _precious_ orb to Corypheus?!" I shouted back and wrenched free of his grip. He allowed it, eyes wide with shock and disbelief.

Yet even with this added distance between us, stunned as he was, he had never felt more dangerous - _to me_ \- than he did at that moment.

"I must have misheard you." His words were soft but there was a threat lurking behind them.

Around us, the Fade had subtly reacted to his emotions, darkening, becoming sharp, pointed and foul, plants twisting into sinister shapes. The spirit too, was nowhere to be seen.

" _He treating me as an enemy_." I realized and the sadness of the thought broke through my righteous indignation. My shoulders slumped. I felt old and weary… Hesitantly, I tried to explain.

"These plans, these... allies, they’d been decided a long time ago." I sighed. "...The key to Corypheus’ defeat was once found by those that looked for it in the right places - I merely remembered the stories... But the most difficult part, the one I’ve been preparing for as best I can… the one I cannot be certain of and am working tirelessly for… is to ensure that his eventual death does not result in the destruction of your people’s artifact."

I held my hands out then, silently asking him to come closer, willing him to believe my words.

 _"In spite of what you’ve done… I’ve never once considered you my enemy, Fen’Harel."_  I gently confided, daring to speak his true name as I walked within arm’s reach. I’m ashamed to admit that I was afraid to embrace him, wary of how my touch would be received.

This being I admired, whose affection I suddenly realized that I longed for, had - through the mere force of his personality and the weight of his presence on my senses - reminded me that he was more than an elven scholar, he was a God.

 _"You’ve grown into a treasured friend."_  I whispered, hardly daring to speak any louder. " _No betrayal was ever intended._ "

Something shifted in his eyes, for an instant, before he closed them tightly and ran a lightly shaking hand over his face.

With a careless gesture, he ended the spell tethering us to the Fade and we were suddenly back in my quarters.

"Goodbye ...Lavellan. I… may return."

He was gone.

 


	3. Part Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN1: I finally decided to separate the final chapter into two parts. I’ve had a lot of trouble getting into the right frame of mind for finishing this. Too much crap happening in the world right now. If any of you, dear readers, are going through anything hard, my best wishes to you.
> 
> AN2: On a lighter note, this chapter will, at times, skirt an M rating but I will swear before a court of law, it’s still T. ;)

**Part 3** :

 

I will not write of those first hours back from the Fade, for they feel strangely painful even after all this time.

It is enough to say that I spent the following days swinging between fear of Corypheus' reprisal for the compound losses of Adamant, Therinfal and Caer Oswin, thorough depression at Solas' absence and half-hearted contemplation of what the Inquisition's next steps could be.

I dreamt often, the first few nights, frenzied, obsessive dreams from which I'd wake, tired and shaking, in the middle of the night and which were forgotten as soon as my eyes opened.

I’ve often since wondered whether that was a manifestation of my own regrets or the Dread Wolf approaching me in the Fade... it had felt, nevertheless, as if I was being stalked by a lingering shade chanting " _What do you know?_ " " _When did you know?_ " and a litany of anguished ‘ _how_ ’s and ‘ _why?!_ ’s.

I imagine it must have felt like a slap in the face to find out that some _nobody_ could cross over from other realms - however unwittingly - while one had tried for millennia, with much greater powers at one’s disposal, to rectify a single, similar mistake.

What answers I might have given - if any - and to what questions… I do not know.

* * *

I was preparing for the day, reading through a stack of reports that Josephine and Leliana had forwarded the night before. It was slow going. Nothing could have made me focus on the dry catalogue of noble names and their various, petty grievances.

Instead, I leisurely worked on putting my quarters in order and mused on various ways one could fight a high-dragon. An empty plate was balanced on top of a tall glass and topped with an inkwell.

How had the Hero of Ferelden done it, I tried to recall. A couple of forks joined the inkwell, balancing lightly from side to side as their tines pushed against each other.

I was hesitant at getting involved with either Asha-Belanar or her daughter whom I recalled as cunning, highly individualistic beings.

As my little tower grew, I kept smoothing down my fringe - an idle, reflex motion to hide my vallaslin, the same vallaslin I scorned... because of words spoken from love, in a future that never existed.

Something about that phrasing struck me and I started pacing, turning the words over in my mind, again and again.

"A future that never existed..." I whispered. It sounded wrong. If my people had known the stories then the events must have taken place, in one shape or another… _somewhere_.

That they would never again occur was also clear, I thought with a pang, picking up one of my many, scattered quills and twirling it around, watching the black feathers shine dark purple and forest green whenever they caught the light.

Not only had the Inquisition become more proactive in its approach of the enemy’s forces, but my friendship with Solas - such as it had been - appeared irreparably broken.

I grit my teeth to force myself not to linger on the notion and placed the quill on the makeshift tower, screwing it gently between the prongs, watching it go lower and lower, until it entered the inkwell and looked, for all the world, as if it had been there first.

"As if it had been there first… If only I too, had been here first." I ruefully mused. "Or not at all." My being here, with most of my memories intact, half-human half-elvhen in the Fade, was an anomaly I couldn’t begin to explain.

Was time cyclical, had the matters of the Inquisition happened in the past - or an alternate, mutually-exclusive timeline? The quill, stuck between the two forks, mocked me. " _You think yourself smart enough_ " it seemed to say, " _to understand the workings of time? What arrogance!_ "

Stupid quill! But then who was? Magister Alexius had certainly dared… and failed to work with time.

Mere temporal displacement couldn’t have been the intended result of his spell, otherwise the magister would have simply uprooted his son from an earlier point of the timeline and inserted him into a latter one, provided such an action guaranteed the boy’s health. ...But bringing a younger Felix to the future wasn’t considered. Why?

A younger Felix… Would the presence of this younger Felix have influenced the elder Felix? The Inquisitor had been displaced, tis true, but only at a point where the two souls couldn’t clash, the old-soul having been thrust out of time a year prior.

"What would have happened" I wondered out loud, fiddling with the precariously balanced forks "...if an Inquisitor were to appear where there already _was_ an Inquisitor? A healthy boy where there already _was_ a sickly young man?"

I was here - the soul of two people - because there was a soulless corpse on Earth. I was here and the baby Ellana _was not_.

"What would happen if a dragon were to be sent where there already _was_ a dragon?" I asked myself and felt the excitement dancing in the words. "If - Creators preserve me for even thinking it - Corypheus were to be sent where there already _was_ a Corypheus?"

There was untold promise in the idea but it was clear that I was neither clever enough nor knowledgeable enough to figure it out by myself. I needed to get in touch with a particular Tevinter mage.

Leliana was informed and promised to look into it.

* * *

 

I didn’t care for the idea of staying in Haven. The village felt like a far too open, too predictable location to linger in so I took to joining the patrols between the Inquisition’s base of operations and the Fallow Mire.  
  
Restful sleep still eluded me. Waking up left only sharp, glittering shards of whatever fantasy had unfolded in the dream but I felt by turns threatened and beguiled into sharing facts which escaped my understanding, power which wasn’t mine to give.

How stupid I had been when bragging that I could match his knowledge in usefulness. I wished he would let me meet him properly, to explain - as embarrassing as the truth was - why this farce was unnecessary. 

* * *

 

The Mire suited my black mood perfectly. As we patrolled the half-sunken roads I’d ofttimes catch myself entertaining thoughts of vanishing into the shifting shadows of the bog for a couple of hours.

Out of our small, six person party only three were reasonable fellows. Captain Thorm, scouts Ian and Negg, were grizzled veterans of the old Battle of Denerim at the end of the Fifth Blight. They could all tell that the Herald of Andraste wasn’t here to rally the troops and would much rather keep to herself.

Whenever we made camp I’d make sure to be assigned with one of them for the guard shifts instead of any of the younger ones.  
  
The other two, Liam and Kieran... children playing at war - such as I too had been doing for the past few months - would take turns at sidling up to me to chatter, brag and flirt, either to boost their own ego or to try and stroke my own. Holding my tongue was the only courtesy I could afford them and, at times, even that seemed like an impossible task, Inquisition soldiers or no.

Thus far we had been marching at a reasonable pace but in the last few days the weather had shifted.

As we advanced into the mire, the light rains had worked themselves into a driving sleet. We should have been grateful for the thick mist wafting from the muddy ground but its fetid warmth felt suffocating.

I wasn’t the only one who felt as if I were drowning in the stench. Without our notice, our march had slowed to a snail’s crawl.

* * *

 

Between the dangers of the fens, the foul weather and difficult company, I hadn't noticed when my sleep became restful, when the dreams became soothing instead of sinister, the lingering voice calming instead of chastising.

Our group had been tasked with patrolling only the northern part of the Fallow Mire, but even so, very few hours were spent walking, not anymore.

This deep into the swamp, darkness fell early and was equally reluctant to leave come morning. We marked our advance by half-dozen miles rather than the two dozen we managed while traversing the Hinterlands.

I think I startled captain Thorm quite thoroughly the evening when I finally replied to one of Liam’s endless comments with something more than a grunt.

It was the start of a flood of questions but my heart felt lighter and that, I think, was the moment I realized that things were going to be alright with my... friend.

* * *

 

I was humming - a terrible thing to do on patrol - at Kieran’s request. It was a slow, sad song my cousins had taught me, an old ballad about the Fall of Arlathan and whose words I no longer recalled.

Focused as I was on capturing song’s odd rhythm, I was the last to react when the Avvar fell on our party like a pack of mad mabari.

Fade stepping onto a boulder, heart beating madly, I took stock of the impromptu battlefield:

Negg, bleeding from his sword arm but holding his own. Shield, close the wound and…

Kieran! Down on his knees, a couple of arrows lodged into his thigh, letting out high, panicked screams while sluggishly clutching and clawing at his leg.

" _Fleshrot_ " I hissed, creating as strong a barrier as I could around him and steeling myself to focus on the others. I had no antidote on hand and stepping next to him to drain the wounds would have been suicide.

Liam… _Liam?_ oh, sweet Mythal… I briefly closed my eyes and forced myself to continue.

Thorm, pulling his greatsword free of a barbarian’s chest and turning to cleave through the nearby archer like butter. Good.  
  
Ian, looking with horror at something past my shoulder.

Oh.

* * *

 

When I came to, we were clustered around a fire, hands tied behind our backs and Negg was mouthing at one of our captors.

"Maker curse you!" he yelled, his low, harsh voice sounding hoarse and pained. "Why are you doing this?! Do you even know what’s going to happen to you when the others find out?"

The barbarians grinned at that and one of the brawny men cockily replied. "Let them!" he howled "The Hand of Korth spits on your Inquisition. Let your Herald come here and face us… if he dares!"

Under my glove, the mark pulsed and throbbed as I laughed and laughed until a solid backhand sent me sprawling.

"Still think it’s funny, shrimp?"

* * *

 

In a line were the five of us dragged, through the shallows and over old, cracked roads, straight towards the Hand’s old keep.

The Avvar made no allowances for health, shoving us roughly every time one of us slowed the pace.

I could see no more than a couple of feet in front of me - both due to the thick, putrid mist and the probable concussion - only dark, flickering, angry shadows on both sides. I’m ashamed to say that the others received more than a few hits due to my own stumbling and faltering steps.

With my hands still tied behind me, head throbbing in pain, I twisted and turned my little wooden charms, whispering promises and regrets to the fog around me and the fog cradled them as she crept to swallow us all.

* * *

 

When we arrived the Hand was out hunting and so, after a couple of muttered words between some of the burlier-looking men, we were shoved and locked into a dark, freezing cell.

Kieran was shivering, looking deathly sick. His skin was feverish and he was staring at the wall with wide, bloodshot eyes, unseeing.

Whispering soothing nonsense, I helped Thorm pull him away from the bars and used what little magic I had recovered to ease his pain, hoping the poison left his system before he died from it.

I silently thanked the Creators that the barbarians hadn’t yet noticed my gender or my being a mage... and silently thanked my companions for not revealing that I was the famed _Herald_ the Hand was waiting for.

I prayed that we’d be saved before any of those could come to pass.

* * *

 

In sleep, the Fade greeted me and, for once, I truly understood the blessing we mages had been given - to leave the broken body behind and walk as higher beings in a realm of infinite possibilities.

I clothed myself with great relish in woolen clothes and long, thick furs, in memory of the cold my body was enduring outside the dream, and basked in the imagined warmth.

I walked along unfamiliar paths which led to familiar memories…

Graduating university, _happiness and pride…_ playing soccer with my son, _encouragement and love…_ my tenth wedding anniversary, _loyalty and devotion…_ my first hunt, _excitement..._ the day I found my magic, _fear and elation…_ the day I woke up at the Breach, _pain and disbelief…_ the day I met the Solas in person... _anxiety and alarm_ ...knocking on his door for the first time, _apprehension_ … late nights spent discussing magic theory, _companionship and awe…_ sitting by his chair, listening to him speak, _affection…_ writing down dozens of plans to trap Corypheus and ensure survival of the orb, _stubbornness_ ...the death of my first patient, _anguish_ ...racing the Dread Wolf through the woods, _thrill and lust…_

and a flicker of satisfaction - I twisted around and he was there, watching us through my eyes… sensing all the emotions I had tried to bury.

 _"Solas..._ " I whispered, feeling at once hopeful, angry and ashamed.

He looked at me, and the expression was not one I expected.

 _"Ellana._ " he greeted with a small, rueful smile.

" _Lethallan... I had thought you ruthless, not lost._ " he said softly, shaking his head. " _I had thought you devious, not desperate._ " He was close now, and I saw him raise a hand to cradle my cheek. I allowed it, baffled by it all.

 _"I have tortured your dreams to expose vicious plots... and found a simple, fearful soul misplaced in time._ " His fingers rubbed tenderly, his skin soft, warm and brilliant with magic. " _If you would but forgive me..._ "

" _I could have done without the nightmares, lethallin, or the worry of never seeing you again..._ " I chided lightly, hardly realizing when my eyes grew heavy and lidded under the gentle touches. " _But it’s a great relief to finally speak face to face._ "

" _You must come back._ " I pleaded. " _I think I’ve finally found a solution for dealing with Corypheus himself - safely!_ "

He looked surprised and pleased, which I attributed to the news and yet which didn't explain the flash of satisfaction which once again crossed his features. He must have noticed my confusion because he tilted his head towards the spirits who were re-enacting our past, where Dream-Solas had trapped my flushed counterpart against a frosted pine.

" _I misjudged you in matters of the heart as well._ " As I watched, I heard him move behind me and his breath brushed the shell of my ear when he spoke. " _I had thought you coy, lethallan, not insecure; willfully blind, not woefully so._ "

" _Tell me frankly if the truth is as I see it now. That I have found a woman who knows of my deeds, of past and future plans and still finds it in her heart to look at me with affection._ "

I twisted to face him and faltered at the deep, roiling feelings I caught in his eyes. The magic hummed in restless expectation.

" _Tell me, lethallan, that your fondness is real._ " I remember him demanding " _That your_ want _is real._ "

" _They are..._ "

* * *

 

Fingers ran lightly across my face and he murmured near-silent promises. " _Tis clear then that it can be done... It will work... I_ will _get to keep you._ " I found myself surrendering to the press of his lips against mine, as he molded our bodies together.

He was as a wisp, his touches faint and elusive even as the air saturated with his magic - fiery and heady, like sweet plum wine on an empty stomach.

While he played at gentleness, his magic sparked across my skin, swift and demanding, roaming everywhere his hands dared not, until I found myself begging, whispering everything I wanted, needed from him.

It was enough, it seemed, to put an end to the charade. I could feel the his growl rumble against my chest as his mood turned from teasing to hungry and the magic sang. My breath caught as thumbs dragged across hard nubs, as large hands squeezed and hips flexed in a wordless promise.

" _You will have it._ " he rasped and I captured his groans with my lips as I desperately ground against him. Even with my eyes closed I thought I could see him, bright and utterly beautiful, as his magic twined with my own... probing, seeking and guiding.

I was too lost in the feelings he had evoked to notice it at first, the insistent tugging at my soul.

" _Solas?_ " I asked, when I felt him withdraw. He seemed to have realized something I hadn’t, because he urgently demanded.

" _Where are you?_ "

Still, his voice seemed faint… as if heard from a great distance.

" _Ellana?_ "

The last thing I saw was his worried frown, as I felt myself torn from the Fade.

* * *

 

A harsh slap pushed my face against the stone wall and it mustn't have been the first, as my nose hurt and both my cheeks were bleeding. The pain brought the world back into sharp relief.

A mountain of a man was looming over me, half-again as tall as the barbarians who had ambushed us. Heavy, roughly-sewn pelts piled across his shoulders, matted and caked with blood and grime, giving him the look of a great, rabid bear.

"Well, well, well… What ‘ave we got ‘ere?" he leered "Thought you were ne’er gonna wake up, pretty. And wouldn’t ‘ave that been a right shame."

He barked a laugh, short and humorless and thrust a leg to kick me in the side. On instinct, I tried to fade step across the room only to howl in pain as my left ankle broke in an unnoticed shackle.

"Figured you’d try that, heh. Gotta be prepared." he grinned "Imagine that. _The Herald of Andraste!_ A runt of a knife-ear mage."

I struggled to breathe through my nose, teeth grit as I frantically mended the bones. He wasn’t pulling on the chain, but rather swinging it idly from side to side. He was too busy gloating to take me seriously and I thanked the Creators for his arrogance.

Eight feet of chain, more or less, but less meant re-breaking my hastily healed ankle, so I wouldn’t be counting on too much room.

"So here’s my offer, Herald." he said, throwing an old, battered-looking staff at my feet.

"You fight me - as well as you can I s’pose" he amended with a sneer "and my tribe can see the power of this Maker against the Hand of Korth."

"Now, steel yourself!" he bellowed and I had only seconds to dodge, scrambling out of the way on all fours.

His clansmen jeered and brayed as he came at me with a vengeance, swinging a great, rock-tipped maul and I ducked and rolled… and tripped, the blasted chains getting in the way.

I fade stepped only when I felt his blows brush against my skin, terrified at the thought of letting the current drive me too far and crushing my leg again with the force of the pull.

A blow came too close and, as I parried, the old staff broke and splintered, leaving me wielding two short, gnarled spikes.

" _Useless!_ " I thought, too angry then for even self-pity. " _You cheating bastard. All that posturing and you’re still too afraid of me to hand me a proper weapon._ " I spat at his feet then stepped around a swing, idly noting the way the chains wrapped halfway around his legs before he turned to face me.

His thrusts became wider, seemed to come faster as I tired, but on one turn, as I fade jumped in quick succession, his foot got tangled in the chains. He fell to his knees but the maul still connected and I shrieked as I felt my ribs break under it.

We were kneeling, him trapped and I, bent double, coughing blood.

" _One mistake._ " I bitterly remembered Solas’ words as I struggled for breath. " _and you’d run yourself through the very sword you wished to avoid._ "

I gasped and wheezed around the blood - short, wet breaths with hardly any air. I could hear the Hand cursing as he dropped the chains to untangle himself, the loud echo of his steps against the stone.

I saw his arms bulge as he raised his maul to end it and I fade stepped into the blow - _agony_ \- and drove the spikes through his neck.

His clansmen howled but it was all a dull… distant… roar.

Curled into a tiny ball, I closed my eyes against the cool stone and called upon the Fade, shaping the magic with frenzied, half-formed wishes " _help me, save me_ ".

The roars turned to shouts as I healed… and then pained cries... and I coughed again as the air filled with a sharp, acrid smoke.

Another magic joined my own, powerful and determined - familiar.

" _Andaran atish’an, Solas._ " I rasped. " _What brings you here?_ "

He was surprisingly unamused.

" _I wonder at that myself. I thought my friend in Haven, among trusted companions, and here I find her, about to be lynched in a barbarian stronghold._ "

" _I won… my fight._ " I sullenly replied and caught a flicker of a smile, short and vicious.

" _So you did._ "

Other shapes joined him after a while and when I focused, they slowly resolved themselves into my comrades. They clustered around us, looking sick, drained and uncertain.

I’m sure we saw quite different things that day: the poorly dressed elf, they… and I, the masked immortal; the slight look of friendly concern, they… and I, the hastily banked fire in his eyes.

" _We will be speaking of this, lethallan._ "

I nodded and turned to address the party.

"Come on, Inquisition, look lively." I began, pasting on the most cheerful smile I could muster. "Solas has already done all our work for us, we’re going back to Haven."

We walked out slowly, leaning on each-other, and I looked back but once, to commit the sight to memory: the dark, crumbling hall... the light fog wafting through the narrow windows... the fairy ring of charred, blackened corpses, Hand’s carcass inside it - my gruesome trophy, left untouched.

* * *

 

Back at Haven, I found out that it had taken Leliana’s people eleven days to find Dorian, even with all I could tell her of his probable location, and it took the man another eight days to finally grace the Inquisition with his presence, appearing - as Varric told it - poised and witty and ready to have his favor courted by the desperate plebs who formed the vast majority of the Inquisition forces.

I think he had been thoroughly surprised by our request which meant that something else was different in the enemy camp that I hadn't accounted for... but nothing he could give us insight into. It was a further worry piled on the mountain of issues already looking precariously tall.

I had told Leliana that Dorian could be a powerful tool in Josephine’s hands so it was quite some time before I could pry him away from the woman, who had jumped at the chance to make use of such a valuable asset.

Once I outlined the problem though, I could tell he was hooked.

It was fascinating to see the amount of effort the man was capable of putting in when presented with such a colossal - _and critical_ \- undertaking, and likewise how casually he treated the implications, preferring to think of the exercise as a particularly difficult puzzle worthy of his sharp intellect than a matter of life and death.

I tried to help but most of his theories and hypotheses flew right over my head. Instead, I introduced him to Solas, and left the two of them to plot and plan together.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I’ve said it once, and I’ll say it again. My respect - my wholehearted respect - to authors who find writing battle scenes easy.

**Part Four**

" _You have behaved most carelessly of late, lethallan._ "

The reproof was Solas' greeting as soon as I entered the Fade and it did little for my already frazzled nerves.

* * *

I had been called to the southern Dales to sign an accord of mutual support with the local leader, an Orlesian with more honor than sense. Though we had reached the area without significant waste of time, it was all for naught. Fairbanks refused to treat with us until the Inquisition, in a show of good faith, recovered his betrothed from enemy hands.

The men postured, Cassandra promised, and we - a dozen swordsmen, eight archers and a mage - marched into the well-fortified, well-defended mansion Corypheus' agents had taken for themselves and where the aforementioned betrothed, one Lady Odela Desjours, acted the part of hostile hostess and not damsel in distress.

Six of us walked out, tired, bloodied and grim: Cassandra, Ambroise and Remi, their armor dented and scarred; Serge, limping with the help of Loranil and I, speaking to the other elf in short, clipped sentences, still jumpy and jittery even as I kept telling myself that the danger had passed.

We spoke of trivial things and I took comfort in the young archer's presence even though I wasn't sure I deserved it. I had certainly scolded the boy - in public too, though admittedly in elvish - when I had found out that he had run off to join the Inquisition in spite of his hahren's wishes. Looking back, I suppose even Loranil acknowledged that it had been a foolish, ill-thought action; fifteen summers old and with more blood in his hands than many Dalish see in their entire lives.

When Cassandra had informed us that most of our rations had been tainted by the poisonous crystals, Serge finally suggested a shortcut through the woods. The narrow, somewhat hazardous trail would have indeed spared us a three days' walk - if a large band of red-lyrium smugglers hadn't thought the exact same thing and camped right in the middle of our path.

They were caught flat-footed but still outnumbered us four-to-one.

* * *

" _I can hardly ask our enemies to 'Please let us retreat safely, if you'd be so kind. We hadn't meant to stumble onto your secret camp. And, oh, is that red lyrium. What a pretty, glittering thing.' "_ I countered somewhat snidely.

* * *

 

Serge had sacrificed himself to buy the rest of us some time. The ground had been precarious though, dusty earth over sliding gravel, and our somewhat organized retreat soon devolved into Cassandra, Remi and Ambroise hurtling through the underbrush while Loranil and I jumped from branch to branch as best as our newly-mended wounds allowed.

Perhaps the smugglers had indulged in some of their accursed cargo because regardless of how we injured them, they still came at us with a vengeance.

It was some time before I realized that five had deftly herded us away from the rest of our party. By then, it was too late. Loranil and I had sprinted up the giant vallasdahlen which was to become our cage for the next eight days.

* * *

" _Please save your glibness for when you look less like a wraith._ " Solas demanded, his fingers tracing across sunken cheeks and what must have been some frightfully dark circles around my eyes.

" _I was no more careless than usual, Solas. Perhaps with an added dose of bad luck._ " I defended, burrowing into his embrace. He smelled of cloves, felandaris and sharp, fiery magic - familiar.

* * *

The smugglers had slept little and in turns. My spells were enough to drive them off when they wanted to climb or chop down the mighty tree, enough to put out the fires they had started around it but not enough to kill them.

Every new day was an array of murder attempts - on both our sides - until I felt myself grow crazy from the forced vigil. My companion was no better, though crying seemed to soothe him. From morn to dusk and morn again, he sobbed and whimpered and threw the spikes I had whittled whenever the smugglers' hunger earned us a small period of détente.

They ate and laughed, threatened and taunted and I was only thankful that they feared us too much to risk sending even one man to bring more of their companions.

Up in our tree, we drank what little water could be gathered from my elemental spells… held watch and fasted... until, on the eighth day, Cassandra arrived, like a blessed saviour, leading a host of Inquisition soldiers.

She told me later that the fires had given the smugglers away but at the time her coming had seemed to both Loranil and I like a miracle and we must have made quite the spectacle, two starved elves sliding down the ancient tree to kiss and embrace the battle-hardened Seeker.

Back at the lodge we found out that Ambroise hadn't made it, succumbing to his wounds not hours away from our camp. As far as I was concerned, the price of Fairbanks' allegiance had been too high: seventeen dead men for three dozen self-styled protectors of the innocent.

I hid my bitterness as best I could during the signing of the accord and made my excuses to see to my companions. Loranil and Remi were both in the infirmary: one starved, one fighting an infection. I checked their progress then curled on an empty cot and fell asleep.

* * *

" _Cullen's forces are well aware of their duty and all the perils it entails. If anything, they have failed in said duty by allowing you to be held captive. A good commander would see that they are reprimanded or covertly replaced with people more aware of the responsibilities of their station._ "

The words were cold, the intent behind them callous and yet he ran his fingers through my hair, gently untangling my braid even as he asserted my comrades' expendability.

" _Their_ 'station' _, lethallin,_   _was that of members of the rescue party for the Lady Desjours. As was my own._ "

" _Mere proximity does not confer the same status, as much as some may wish it. This society would have long ago fallen into chaos had it been so._ "

" _I can't look at the people I fight beside and decide they're dispensable, lethallin._ "

" _Yet many are._ " he stated, blunt and emotionless, and I pretended I didn't find his casual disregard unsettling.

" _We must agree to disagree, Solas. What happened in the Emerald Graves… ours was a hollow victory and I'd much rather focus on happier things. Tell me, how is the research going?_ "

* * *

The spell, it appeared, was complete and I was giddy throughout the journey back to Haven. Though I noted that there were no travelers on the road, no caravans or Inquisition patrols, it was an idle thought, given an instant's attention and just as soon forgotten.

Loranil and I kept up a constant stream of chatter - mere gossip and frivolous observations - and though none of the party understood our fast-paced elvish it looked as if  _the Herald_ 's cheerfulness was morale booster by itself.

Only as we crested the final rise did the horrible truth become apparent: Corypheus had decided to deal with the Inquisition before we could undo his work and close the Breach. Haven was under attack!

"Aid your fellows!" I yelled and  _fade stepped_  past the soldiers.

 _"Corypheus was here. He wasn't supposed to be here."_  That was the only thought in my mind as I charged down the steep incline, only marginally aware of the way my knees jerked between spells, straining, struggling to keep the same augmented rhythm with only mortal speed. He wasn't supposed to be here but I needed to find the mages. I needed to contact Dorian. I needed to reach Solas.

* * *

When the hysteria left me, I found myself in the thick of the battle, surrounded by chaos. Cloaked mages bearing the stigma of red-lyrium had managed to commandeer one of the bluffs next to the eastern guard tower and were using the vantage point to create chokeholds for the Inquisition's foot soldiers, casting fires and toxic pools from which the tainted crystals crept across the ground as from a festering, oozing wound.

Our men had countered by loading a couple of ballistae with volatile concoctions.

"Turn it more to the left! You've hit three less than last time." someone was saying gruffly - ah,  _Rocky_ \- even as they helped adjust the aim.

"I'm trying, chief! Shot right in the middle. They must have put up a barrier or something - it just didn't fly straight."

"They're flasks, soldier. Not bolts. Adjust for it!" the sapper was by turns shouting orders and muttering insults, handing the soldiers increasingly odd-looking flasks. " _Blighted nug-humper… fucking elementary knowledge..._ "

The second salvo sent the casters into a frenzy, fingers clawing frantically at the poisoned patches where the skin was quickly giving way to raw, darkening flesh - an extravagant waste of lifestone fillings had matters not been so dire.

"Now that's what I'm talking about! Ah, Inquisitor!"

"Rocky. You seem to have our men well in hand. Is there anything I can do to help?" I offered, my eyes already drawn to another part of the field.

"Not unless you can get me something that blows up."

"Would bottles… or barrels of spirits do?" I asked haltingly, fretting when I noticed Cassandra surrounded by a group of mutated warriors. "I've known the Iron Bull... to leave some of his... supplies with Master Harritt."

They were testing her reflexes, attacking in ones and two, made wary by their comrades' corpses, pushed aside like so much trash to allow unhindered footwork.

The dwarf scratched his chin, considering.

"That might just work, if any of these kids could find their own arses without help..."

"I'll go myself and take two of the men with me. Come along, soldiers. The smithy, as you should all know, is just to the right of the main gate." the words were sharp and I paid the men little attention, eyes riveted on my companion.

But I needn't have worried. The Seeker was… extraordinary. The heavy armor's weight seemed no hindrance as she ducked and weaved under the enemies' sloppy thrusts, meeting their hasty slashes with a ready shield and an even readier riposte. A circle of groaning, bleeding bodies was growing around her, the Venatori's fallen numbers adding to her own defense.

We were almost at the cottage when a few demons broke through our western flank. The shades rushed towards us and while the soldiers moved to intercept the attack, I wove protections around us and tried to edge out of sight.

A trio of wraiths hovered worryingly at the forest's edge - though not for long. Poisoned bolts and flaming arrows rained onto the angry spirits, piercing through their barriers and disrupting the magic's temporary shape.

Leliana and Varric it seemed, had scaled the scaffolding outside one of the watchtowers and were engaged in a friendly archery contest... also known as the time-honored tradition of culling the enemy's ranks.

"That's eighteen for me, Nightingale."

"They don't count unless they're dead, Varric."

The crossbow thwanged as it released three times in quick succession and Leliana gave a falsely mournful sigh. "Eighteen to my own… Inquisitor, you're here!"

"Soldiers, get that door open. Break it down if you must. Secure the cargo and report back to Rocky. Leliana, Varric. Have either of you seen Solas or Dorian?"

"Or course! How could anyone not have… they're over there." she said, anxiously pointing to a couple of shapes in the distance, far by the lake, bearing the brunt of Corypheus' anger.

I might have said something in reply but all I recall is rushing through the ranks, fade jumping as soon as the magical residue dispersed from the previous spell. On the very edge of the lake, supported by roughly two dozen swordsmen, the mages were holding an impressive barrier while carving flaming runes into the frozen earth.

"We need to get that orb away from him!" Solas was shouting, partly to be heard above the din and partly, it seemed, out of desperation.

"So you keep telling me! And I say we'll get it just as well after we cast the spell!" Dorian countered furiously.

"We cannot risk losing it to an alternate timeline. The Breach..."

"The Breach is the least of our concerns! There's a man with delusions of godhood beating on our shields… with a dragon!"

"I… I might go..." I remember offering, deathly scared of both facing the magister and allowing him continued possession of the dangerous artifact.

" _Lethallan!_ " My friend turned around, shocked and hopeful.

He seemed to be struggling for words. Perhaps he felt torn between achieving his goal and risking my safety. Or he may have simply been hesitant to show that, at this point, I had become one of the dispensable many.

I didn't want to know either way… so I put on my bravest face and waved my arm in the dragon's general direction.

" _What do I need to do?"_

" _Are you certain.._ "

" _Yes, yes. But it seems we don't have much time, so what do I need to do?_ " My mask already felt brittle and thin and I could hardly stop my teeth from chattering. I didn't need to waste any more time on this.

" _You will have to grab hold of the orb with the same hand bearing the anchor then push yourself as far away as possible. Dorian and I will wait for that moment to activate the spell._ "

"I heard my name… Just what are you two saying?" I heard Dorian ask as I turned away.

I took stock of myself… _"Low power, low skills… wits it is then._ " I concluded, and tried not to let the thought depress me even further. _"Alright._ " I huffed out. " _It's alright._ " and stepped out of the barrier. The dragon reared back, head tilted in slight surprise that its meal would come to it of its own accord.

"Corypheus!" I called out, walking towards the magister. "Too much death has been wrought here tonight! I'm here to surrender my mark in exchange for my men's lives."

"At last, she shows herself. The usurper… come to return what she has stolen." A signal to the dragon and it was drawing back, making room for the abomination to step forward.

"I accept your terms… elf." he said with a greedy leer, wrenching my arm forward.

I grabbed the orb and allowed the anchor's power to settle into it… it refused, rebelled, angry at the forced confinement… but its counterpart had already drawn away from Corypheus, clinging to the familiar magic. The Elder One screamed as we both realized the very instant he lost control the orb's power.

"Deceitful snake!" he hissed, lunging after me as I stumbled back.

The magic hit a moment later. It was ...magnificent.

There are no words to describe looking into another time. We mages come close through our explorations of the Fade, but it still does not compare to the exhilarating -  _and agonizing_  - rush of peeling apart the folds of time, bending them crooked and then smoothing them back; and I had been caught at the very edge of this wrinkle in time, sundered by the  _here_  and  _not-here_ , by the familiar now and a foreign, frightening present that my mind rejected. There was no relief, no recourse but screams - the most basic, primal manifestation of fear.

And then the forcefully knotted string unwound and the tear spat out the magister and his high-dragon. Corpses.

* * *

" _Your prize, Dread Wolf._ " I rasped and held out the orb. He took it slowly, almost reverently.

" _So it is done. It truly is._ "

He smiled then - a proud, triumphant smile, wide and sharp and showing too many teeth.

" _What a gift you bring me. Priceless beyond imagining._ "

I remember shrugging and looking away, uncomfortable with his assertion. " _You slew Corypheus yourself… Your victory, your spoils._ "

A hand came to rest on my shoulder, warm and heavy. " _Your aid then, lethallan, will not be forgotten. I will see to it._ " A whisper of magic brushed against my back and he was gone.

* * *

The celebrations were still in full swing when I retired to my chambers, claiming fatigue. My  _companion_ 's absence hadn't sunk in yet. I was dazed, confused by his abrupt departure, but unsurprised. Sleep came easily enough, dreamless and deep.

I couldn't say exactly what woke me. Even with the windows open, my room was silent as a grave... the curtains fluttered and there he stood, silhouetted against the sky, leaning on the narrow sill.

He seemed to be staring at the Breach - the selfsame Breach which could now be closed only by the orb in his possession. I should have felt worried, perhaps; instead, there was only relief. Whether he closed it or not, the matter was finally out of my hands. The ' _Mark of Andraste_ ' would become little more than a myth - as it should.

The blankets must have rustled as I tried to sit because he looked over his shoulder and gave me a soft, languid smile before turning away.

_"Solas."_

_"Go back to sleep, my heart. I will be here when you wake."_

* * *

**THE END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The End, whew. First off, my thanks to everyone who took an interest in this story. I hope it’s been at least half as fun to read as it’s been to write.
> 
> Second, before anyone asks, yes, it’s supposed to be somewhat unclear if the Dread Wolf is ‘good’ or ‘evil’. The only certain thing is that he hasn’t abandoned Lavellan. Whether his plans will doom or save the world is another matter entirely.


End file.
